Nothing Remained But Your Eyes
by Catheryne
Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.
1. Chapter 1

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: One of my favorite poets is Neruda, and many of the stories I have written are anchored on lines from Neruda's poems. Every part of this story that I want to tell is anchored on Sonnet XC of the Hundred Love Sonnets.

**Part 1**

_I dreamed that I died: that I felt the cold close to me;_

_And all that was left of my life was contained in your presence. _

Shadowcrest.

The very name brought a thrill to his skin, a certain chill. Almost like there were cold creeping fingers trailing down the back of his neck. There was a catch in his throat, consistent and throbbing but the dead stillness was too attractive to make a whisper of a noise.

Shadowcrest had stood looming, with its bleary random light twinkling in the night sky. In the lush comfort of the leather seat of his towncar Oliver Queen spread his hand, fingers splayed, his nails biting into the plush cover. He licked his lips at the sudden dryness of his mouth. It was a far cry from the skyscrapers he had purchased after a careful and thorough inspection that cost months and a company worth of engineers. Sight unseen, Oliver had wired the money to the owner just because of the name.

And now Shadowcrest sat at the very end of his portfolio, a magnificent old home that drained money from his accounts—useless, like some memory of a life long gone. It was not even his own memories. It was an ancestral home of a family that could not manage its own growing power and eventually lost it all.

"Shadowcrest is an anchor," was a selling point to him. But it had been so long ago since he had handed the papers to a lawyer who in turn handed it to another.

An anchor. It was a good marketing tagline for men like him, and Oliver did not even know why.

Perhaps he needed an anchor at the time he threw money into the property. But there was too much at stake now, other projects he needed to fund himself. There was no need to lose money on property taxes and maintenance of a place that was nothing but a whim.

Outside he heard the thunder disturb the quiet night. He peered outside the tinted windows and saw the crack of lightning rend the pitch black sky before another rumble vibrated through the ground. Within second it was pouring so thickly he doubted that the driver could see past half a foot.

"Mr Queen," started the driver.

"Pull over," Oliver instructed. There was no need to endanger his own life or that of anyone who worked for him. Shadowcrest was dead and bleeding after all. It did not matter if there was an hour or twelve or delay.

Three hours later and Oliver was glad they were on an incline, because the rain was as hard and thick as when it began. He cursed Gotham for what he was sure was its own curse. He abhorred the climate there, wished he was back home where the sun was felt even in the cool of the night. It was easy to have other activities in a warm night. Gotham was hell on earth, and he had no doubt the large drops of water were in fact tinged with a little bit of ice.

"It's past dinner time, Mr Queen," came the gentle reminder from the driver seat. "I have a sandwich packed from the kitchen. You can have it if you're getting hungry."

But he never did get hungry. Oliver did not know why. It was something he never verbalized, because out in the world that did not know who he was the statement would be twisted into some form of egomaniacal proclamation of a billionaire instead of a gastric anomaly.

"I have my brandy. I think I'm good," Oliver pronounced. He reached for the bottle in the convenient resting place and poured some in a crystal shallow glass. Oliver reached forward and thrust it at the man in front, smirking at the responsibility he had in his veins to hand potent alcohol to the man with the wheel under his hands. "Warm up," he told the driver. "One shot wouldn't spike your blood alcohol. By the time this rain stops you'll have that out of your system."

The man received the brandy with a grateful nod.

"John right?"

"Giovanni," the driver told him. "But everyone calls me John."

Oliver nodded back and poured himself triple the amount. He tipped the glass to his mouth. The glass was cool against his lips and his eyelids fluttered closed. Oliver sighed. The brandy burned a path down his throat.

It was like fire—hot as hell and burning down to his lungs. He gasped. His eyes shot open and instead of the gray ceiling of the towncar Oliver found himself staring up at licking flames and a thick, thick cloud of smoke. He heard his name called from afar, and when he turned towards the strange, familiar voices he saw nothing but smoke and a silhouette behind it.

He searched, knowing he needed to look left, to the floor. A blur tinged red and blue zipped in front of him, waking the flames further. The floor to his side was empty save a puddle of dark red blood smeared in the corners where, he realized, looking down at the green leather covering his legs he had knelt.

A compound bow lay discarded to the side. His throat was raw, completely and utterly ravaged, and it was more than the smoke that tore the pipes. He could not speak, barely breathe. But he was alone then and there was no need to say a word ever again.

Oliver looked down at his fisted hand and recognized that he gripped the steel column of an arrow. His hand was bare, no gloves, no protection. But it was warm, sticky, coated slick and gruesome. He dropped the arrow with a start, then held out his hand towards the licking flames. The steel arrow clattered on the floor, making more noise to his ears than the collapsing beams around him.

The dim light of the flame illuminated his skin. Oliver's raw throat ached at the sight. Blood. All over his hand, painting his wrists like he had washed himself with fresh blood.

Oliver jerked up in his seat. His gaze flew around him and he found himself still seated in the back of the towncar. The torrential rain had eased somewhat. He met the curious eyes of the driver in the rearview mirror.

"Glad you managed to doze off, Mr Queen. We'll be on the road again in a little bit."

Oliver nodded. His racing heart slowed. He brought the brandy to his mouth again and swallowed deeply, killing the smoke he imagined still lined his insides, burning off the scent of fire and blood that coated his nostrils.

As promised, the car started once again. The incline up was slick and tricky as they meandered the paths to Shadowcrest.

The sale had been simple, and rash. He had no business looking at real estate when he had been searching for a project that would establish his place at the helm. But the girl had made her way over to him at the end of his workday with a swing to her hips that men his age could not deny.

"At the end of your life, who do you want to be?" he remembered the girl ask him. "My father wanted to be remembered for everything he had the ability to do. That was what Shadowcrest stood for." Zatanna. The girl's name was Zatanna. And for a heritage as important to her family as Shadowcrest the girl had been only too eager to sell—and only to Oliver Queen.

Oliver certainly related to what she valued. He needed to strengthen his place at the company because it was his parents' life's work.

Oliver had sat across the girl as they spoke business in the hotel retaurant. "I'm too young to answer that question, don't you think?" he returned fluidly.

"You've answered the question before, Mr Queen," she returned, her voice cryptic, her smile far from it. "Believe me."

Oliver chuckled, knowing the girl would probably be able to sell whatever she wanted with those red lips and the endless legs. "Are you telling me we met before?"

A shrug of creamy shoulders had been more fulfilling than to see her nod. "Maybe in another life. Maybe I asked you that question. Maybe you answered, and that's why you're here."

"Maybe you're flirting amazingly well and it's working, because I'm about to reach for my checkbook."

She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. "Shadowcrest means far too much to me, so I need to know that you deserve it. My father wasted away the last years of his life and all he left is in Shadowcrest." Her brilliant eyes held him still, and the amusement faded from his chest. "I asked you once and you gave me an answer that I respected. I'm asking you again, Mr Queen. If this was the last day of your life, what would you want?"

For the life of him, he could not answer her question.

"Marriage," she whispered. "Marriage and children."

And he could not help but feel that she knew too much, had seen too much, watched too much.

"Or would you ask for a few more years, when you get to the end?"

The server passed and refilled the cup of coffee in front of Oliver. Oliver undid the napkin and then dumped a sugar cube into the cup.

"That your name is never forgotten," she added.

Her eyes fluttered to his idle hand. And then Zatanna nodded. "I'll have my lawyer contact yours, Mr Queen." The girl rose and ambled away, like she was the one who had done him the favor, and he was not the one who would be giving her millions.

He had looked down and realized he was gripping the spoon in his hand so fiercely that his knuckles had gone white.

As they entered the lot of Shadowcrest, the lamps lit. Oliver beheld the large mansion that, despite its grandeur, barely compared to the Queen or the Wayne estates. He did not wait for the driver to open his door. Oliver pushed open his own door and he felt the cold drizzle on his skin. He strode over to the steps and ran up, then pushed the heavy doors opened.

The place was musky, abandoned for so long that spiders had weaved webs from the ceiling down to his eye level.

"I can help you. I wouldn't offer this to just anyone, Oliver, but I owe you. Tell me," came the whispered temptation into his ear. Oliver whirled around and found himself standing alone in the foyer. She had asked him before, she told him. Once, in another lifetime, she had asked and he had answered. "You've lived a full life," came Zatanna's words, soft and gentle, her fingers cool on his hot brow.

Oliver slowly backed away from the foyer, out the heavy doors, until once more he stood out on the steps. He shut the door behind him. He turned around and looked back at the driver who had only just stepped out of the towncar. Curtly, Oliver said, "We're going back to the city."

~o~o~

All around her the world was burning.

Chloe Sullivan had survived a half dozen ends of the world, only to end this way. The pain wrenched inside of her, twisted and burned in one center space. Her intestines tore at the awful sensation, and soon a chill warred with the burning pain. Her hands trembled. She could barely breathe. She gasped, noisily, and she heard the gurgle in her own throat as blood bubbled inside and spilled from the corner of her mouth. She watched as the blood pulsed from her stomach and coated his fist.

Chloe blinked the haze in her vision and when it cleared, through the thick smoke of pain and fear she saw that he was gripping the thick shaft of an arrow, burying it steadily into her gut.

The metallic scent of blood filled her senses to overflowing. She weaved at her feet. Chloe gripped his arms and slowly she looked up at him and met his covered eyes. Slowly she reached up and pushed the dark shades that covered them.

Her killer's eyes were brown, liquid. They were the last thing she remembered before she felt him twist the weapon in her gut, and she fell into his arms.

When she woke from the nightmare she shook. She pulled the thick coverlet around herself and still she trembled. The world burned in the nightmare but she had been cold and she wondered if it was heaven or hell that would be so freezing cold amidst all that fire. At least she knew death was cold. Chloe glanced at the clock and noted the time, then barely managing to hold herself together Chloe crawled out of the bed with weak and trembling knees.

She stepped under the shower and turned it on full blast. Chloe lowered her head and scrubbed her body. She trailed fingers down her stomach and swallowed, feeling still the painful recollection of the nightmare.

Those eyes of her murderer. She was never going to forget.

The ringing phone barely penetrated the sound of the running water, but Chloe was hyperaware of her surroundings in the moments after she woke from her nightmares. Chloe turned off the shower and walked out to the window. She saw the convertible waiting right outside and waved. The ringing stopped. Chloe pulled on a black high waisted skirt and a yellow silk blouse from her closet.

She had one hand on the doorknob when her phone rang again. Chloe raced back to the bed and rejected the call, then grinned when the message appeared reminding him that she was about to forget the phone.

Chloe ran out of the Talon and across the street with a grin, flashing the phone. She got into the passenger seat of the car and shook her head. "You really think you know me so well."

His smile was charming, and she laughed gently when he shrugged. "I think the truth speaks for itself. I saw you come back for it."

"Fine," she decided. "But I won't admit it out loud."

"Good enough," he returned.

Chloe dropped the phone into her bag, then looked back at him with a smile. His eyebrow arched. "Something on my face, Chloe?"

She shook her head, then leaned back in her seat. Lex started the car and drove to the castle. They stopped right at the doorstep, and Lex tossed the keys to one of the waiting men. Chloe stepped out of the car without waiting for him to open the door for her. When he glanced at her with raised brows, Chloe stuck out her chin in a challenge.

He fell into step by her side. Before he could speak, she said, "For all we know he has cameras trained on us."

So they entered the castle together. Breakfast had become tradition since Lionel handed the column to her when she was in high school, and five years with the Luthors had given her a deep understanding of the interaction she expected from father and son. Chloe carried the conversation with Lionel with barely a pause. By now, she did not exert the effort to involve Lex because the very act carried with it an expected tension.

In fact, Lionel would hardly expect the son he obliged to pick up the girl he had thought of as a mentee to interact casually with Chloe.

When Lionel offered to have a car take her to Metropolis for her classes, Chloe glanced at Lex. "Are you driving to the city today, Lex?" When Lex nodded, Chloe turned to Lionel and rejected the offer. "I think I want to start going green." At the end of the statement, Chloe wondered why the words made her breathless. "Strictly for environmental purposes."

Lionel regarded her with amusement, and Chloe recognized pleasure on his face when he thought he was inconveniencing his son.

Chloe and Lex shared the drive to Metropolis. The three hour drive in the peak hours gave them a chance to exchange updates that Lex was sure would be safe. His cars, at least, he was certain were not bugged.

"Do you have the evidence in a safe place?" he asked.

Evidence as sensitive as ones that could put Lionel Luthor in jail forever was enough that she had taken sufficient precaution. "Until we can release them to the authorities, they're completely secure."

Lex nodded. Chloe marveled at the strength of will he exhibited as they took it one step at a time. In his place, she would have yelled bloody murder and ensured that Lionel never slept under the same roof again. Then again, her only exposure to fatherhood was her own dad and Jonathan Kent. She was not going to presume she knew how Lex felt about Lionel.

The car stopped at a traffic light in front of the Metropolis Museum. Chloe sighed and checked her watch. "I'm going to be late for class," she said idly.

"That's why I'm telling you to move to Metropolis."

Chloe rolled her eyes. The man always had to be right. She caught sight of the billboard from the sideview mirror. The billboard showed a photograph of a large sarcophagus and other artifacts and murmured, "A Tale of Eternal Love." It was a showing in the museum that was about to open. "How romantic."

Lex checked his own side mirror then nodded. "I read about that. Queen is sponsoring the project. Must be expanding his hobbies."

"You know him?" Chloe asked, straightening in her seat. "Because I'd love tickets."

Lex grunted. "Went to boarding school with him. But even if I don't know him, we can get you tickets. I'm Lex Luthor," he pointed out. Chloe chuckled. "And it's false advertisement. It's not romantic as much as it's gruesome. Osiris was chopped up into fourteen pieces and Isis moved heaven and earth to gather all the chopped parts of his body so he can live again. And that's only the less gruesome part of that story."

"Isis was a goddess. She probably had her choice of men. She could have moved on. She didn't. She moved heaven and earth for him. I think that's romantic," she told him. "I want to go."

The light turned green and Lex drove until they stopped near the building where her classes were. "Go ahead and shop, although I have no idea how you're going to find something to wear in short notice. It's a costume ball."

Chloe beamed. "You don't have a cousin named Lois Lane." She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his cheek. With everything that was going on, she needed a break—even if it came in the form of a museum gala.

Lex unsnapped his seatbelt and turned his head so he could capture her lips. Chloe placed her hands on his shoulders. The smooth, lithe power under her palms thrilled her. More than anyone else in the world, she knew what he was capable of. And she was glad she was on the right side.

She was going to be late for class anyway. The sooner she could tell him, the sooner part of the weight would be lifted from her chest.

"Lex," she breathed. Slowly she pulled away so she could meet his eyes. "I need your help."

At the somber expression on her face, he leaned back and nodded. Chloe expected nothing less. When she was younger she had asked for his help and he never once denied her. Now she had been writing for the Daily Planet for years courtesy of Lionel Luthor's endorsement. She stumbled across damning evidence about her benefactor and until she could use it, Lex was her protector.

"Anything," was his response. "Is it my father?"

It may not have been her choice. It was a choice made by her best friend when he walked away, thinking that Chloe had chosen Lex Luthor over him. But Lex looked on like he was prepared to take on any threat in the world for her, and she did not regret the way the cards fell down.

Chloe shook her head. Reluctantly, she admitted, "I don't know how to begin."

"Do you trust me?"

He had already saved her life. And this time, they were embarking on a dangerous mission together. The mission would take down an evil as great as his father. "I have a strong suspicion that your father killed mine," she whispered. In her effort to prove it, she had been willing to delve into the depths of the Luthor life. "And I'm in your car. What do you think?"

Lex's lips thinned. They had spoken about the fertilizer plant disaster, and the various employees who had been killed following the commotion that happened during the employee takeover.

"I think my life is in danger."

Instead of disbelief, Chloe felt Lex tense. "I can arrange for a safehouse for you, Chloe. What makes you think you're in danger?"

She took a deep breath. She did not remember too much from the nightmare, but she did remember those dark shades, those warm brown eyes, the way his firm hand gripped the arrow and pushed it into her gut.

"I don't know," she whispered. The flames were scorching and the chill in her bones had been so real. And even then, Chloe wondered why in death she had wanted to hold him so tightly, imagined how it would feel when her slack lips rested against his. She thought she breathed her last breath into the crook of his neck. He was so willing to hold her when she died.

But he killed her. She had seen her own blood staining his hand as certainly as she saw those eyes that haunted her even now.

"But I know he's coming soon," she whispered, and despite the strength and purpose she had shown so far in the quest to take down Lionel Luthor, Chloe was sure she could be just a little bit vulnerable in front of Lex. "I don't know who he is but I need you to protect me from him."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: One of my favorite poets is Neruda, and many of the stories I have written are anchored on lines from Neruda's poems. Every part of this story that I want to tell is anchored on Sonnet XC of the Hundred Love Sonnets.

AAN: Here's a little bit of background for you guys.

**Part 2**

_Your mouth was the daylight and dark of my world,_

_Your skin, the republic I shaped for myself with my kisses._

It should have been explosive.

She had abandoned him, and she had taken the choice out of his hands when she went and erased herself from the world. But the day of the reckoning came and she had walked back into her life like she had no care in the world.

Instead of the pent up fury he had nursed for the weeks since he had accepted that she had left on her own, that night when Oliver saw her, he was frozen where he stood. In his dark suit, with his sunglasses on, he had walked back into his apartment. His shoulders were hunched, remembering how the casket weighed as he gripped the gold handle. He had met AC's eyes as his friend lifted the other end.

It was a new team that carried Carter to the grave. He had been the last of the founders of the Justice Society. The reality sank in that what happened to Carter's team would one day happen to the League as well.

One by one they were going to fall.

And he refused to accept that Chloe was the first casualty of it all.

Because God knew even under the dismal rainpour that thankfully hid if he shed a tear during the interment, Oliver could feel Chloe's presence so strongly it would be an affront to find out she was already dead. In the dark halls of the museum that had once served as the JSA's base, while he drowned out and blurred the reality with a scotch or twelve he looked over his shoulder fully expecting to see her barreling down towards him.

Imagination. Wishful thinking. Oliver vaguely remembered that Carter had been seeing Shayira the last few months before he died. Maybe it was a sign that he was not going to survive the next encounter.

He was not even a little afraid.

And so when he made his way back to the apartment, exhausted and barely conscious, Oliver had first thought the figure sitting tensely on the edge of their bed—his bed, he forced himself to correct—was just, like every other silhouette he thought he was, a figment of his masochistic brain.

And then she rose and slowly turned to face him, and her face was streaked with tears—for Carter or for the two of them he did not know. Maybe for all of them. He would accept it if only he knew she cried part of those tears because she lost him too.

Slowly he pulled off the sunglasses. The dim light from the interior shone on her hair.

"Are you real?" he whispered softly, afraid any louder she would blow away. And she nodded, her gaze still bearing a hint of fear and a heaping dose of longing. "I had to ask. There were so many nights I imagined you there, when I remembered you. Then you were gone and I had to tell myself I hated you for leaving."

When she answered, her voice—now only familiar from recollections he gathered and squirreled away in a tiny corner of his mind—sent a lick of flame in the bottom of his spine, drew cold diagrams on the skin of his neck. It was half of a sob, half of a confession. "No matter how it seemed, you have to know that it wasn't ever by choice."

He closed his eyes, listened to his heartbeat as he let the words wash over him. They may have varied definitions of choice, different ways of understanding what sacrifice and love entailed, but it was enough for him at least to know what she believed. And then he felt his arms grow full of her, finally, and like a cresting wave his long withheld emotions rose and crashed down. Her lips covered his with kisses, and her fragrance curled around the embrace until everything he smelled was her.

He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss with all the passion he had kept at bay. It had been so long since he held her, even longer since he had to silence himself and everything he felt. When they had to pull away to breathe, Oliver looked down at her and saw everything in her eyes that he had always wanted to see.

His hand was at first tentative when he brushed his thumb on the hollow of her throat.

"Oliver," she breathed, like it was a prayer that flew from her lips.

He swallowed, then met her eyes.

She reached up and undid the buttons of her blouse. Chloe did not look down, but held his gaze when she released the last. Oliver reached and touched the skin she revealed, running a finger down her throat to her navel. Her stomach tightened in reaction. Finally she looked down, her short hair falling at the sides of her face, hiding her from him. Impulsively he brought her chin up so he could look at her face again.

No more hiding.

And then Oliver peeled back the blouse and tossed it to the floor. When he reached for the zip of her pants he bent and took her mouth for a slanted kiss. Her hands reached up and frantically, blindly, released his tie. When she pushed his jacket off his shoulders he helped her discard the item of clothing, then gritted his teeth when her hands ran the expanse of his chest.

"I missed your touch," he told her.

And it was undoubtedly the biggest understatement in the world, because there were nights when he wondered if there was technology in the world powerful enough to sear off memories so he could live his life again.

He placed an openmouthed kiss on her collarbone. Her pants dropped to her ankles now. He heard her breath hitch and she gasped. Her fingers buried into his hair and tightened. Still, he kissed his way down her throat and finally buried his nose between the swell of her breasts.

"I thought we'd never have this again."

And he was sufficiently relieved when she grasped his shoulders and raised herself up, wrapped her legs around his waist. The bed was just behind her, and Oliver carried her towards the bed and laid her down. He covered her body and marveled at how comfortable and familiar this was—despite the months that had passed, despite the rare occurrences they found themselves in his bed.

They were going to make love, because he missed her wrapped around him, missed the way he felt like there was nothing wrong with the world when he was inside her. And then she placed a hand on his chest and sat up on the bed.

"I love you," she said tentatively.

Despite having heard it before, this was the first time he saw her face when she said the words. His heart constricted. He said in return, "I love you too."

"After this—"

Oliver took her hand in his and quickly dispelled her words by kissing her lips. "I love you; you love me. Anything other than that can wait until I'm done welcoming you home."

He gave her a smile, because in his bed she was not supposed to think of what was missing in life, or what was wrong outside. They had started this to be happy. And she was home. He was happy.

"Do you know how much I missed you when I was gone?" she asked softly.

If she really believed the time apart was out of her hands, then she could have felt a fraction of what he did. So he answered, "Of course."

And he touched her. He slid a hand under her bra and released one breast, kissed the nipple and flicked it with his thumb until it was straining under his attention. Oliver licked it, then took it between his teeth. She released a long breath and fell back on the bed. Oliver bent down and kissed her stomach. When she reached down and pulled him up so she could kiss him, Oliver felt her thighs cradle him and her opening warm and moist under him. He reached down between them and slid two fingers inside her.

"I stayed awake at night dreaming of this," she confessed.

He whispered into her ear, "I never forgot."

And then he slid inside of her, and Oliver groaned when her muscles yielded to accept him and then squeeze him tightly. He laid his mouth against her cheek as he started thrusting in and out of her. She gripped his shoulders and whispered into his ear how much she loved him. And then Oliver felt her body spasming around him, squeezing and then clenching tight. She let out a small cry of release. Oliver's vision darkened and he pushed and pulled until he came inside her.

Even after he was done, and her hands rubbed up and down his back, Oliver did not move from his place on top of her. He closed his eyes. "Wake me up if I'm too heavy for you." Instead she wrapped her arms around him and tightened her legs as she held on to him.

It was a couple of hours later when Oliver opened his eyes. Outside the moon was still high in the sky. He felt himself stirring and he dropped a kiss on her shoulder. She woke and met his eyes, then tentatively she raised her hips. He was hard, and he angled his hips forward. Her green eyes sharpened at the sensation. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she threw her head back. Wordlessly, Oliver pumped his hips. She raised her arms over her head. He twined their fingers together and he held her hands down on either side of her head.

Chloe hooked her legs tighter over his hips and met his thrusts, then tightened her fingers around his when he came inside her again that night.

Morning came and with it came the carefully planned vengeance. The Justice League gathered around the Watchtower, and Oliver nodded when Chloe took her place to his right. She had laid a tentative hand on his arm that morning when he gave her a cup of coffee.

"We need to talk."

"I still love you. I won't ever stop," was his response. "Do you still feel the same way?"

And her smile was easy, a little sad though he did not know why, when she told him, "I'm always going to love you, Ollie."

Then there was time enough to share stories, to talk about the future, after they take down the bastard that killed Carter. "Then we'll talk tonight," he promised her. Because when they sat down and figure out tomorrow they would have all the time in the world, all the focus they could bring. After all, they would be agreeing on forever.

~o~o~

He kicked at the door, and it did not budge. Once again he grabbed the doorknob and hissed in pain at the scorching metal. Chloe took his hand and pulled it back. Around them the beams screeched and one flaming rod clattered from the ceiling to just a several feel behind them. He covered Chloe's head with his arm and pulled them down and away.

She was pale and trembling. Oliver pushed her behind him as he searched the building for a way out. He took a bow from the quiver and shot at the window, but his arrow clattered to the ground. He cursed at the strength of the material used.

"I'll get us out of here," he assured her. "Stay low and so you don't inhale too much smoke."

Chloe gripped the back of a chair and cried out, falling to her knees. He rushed over to her side and grasped her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and grasped his collar. She cried out again. Chloe reached up and tore her shirt partway down. Oliver saw the green glow coming from the vicinity of her heart.

"What is that?"

Her grip on him was strong, close to painful. But the look she gave him tore at him more than any physical pain. "That's what I needed to tell you," she gasped. "I didn't know how long it would take before it reacts. They planted it on me like they planted it on Tess."

Biorhythm.

"We need to turn it off."

He shook his head furiously. "I'm not going to stop your heart."

In his arms she recoiled, then cried out once again. He held her close until the pain receded. "It's not a tracking device, Oliver. It's going to implode. This facility is right below where there are civilians." It was burning, scorching hot, and Oliver knew this was how hell burned. "We don't have time, Oliver."

"I'll find a way out," he barked. He could not hate her for leaving when she thought it was the only choice. But he could hate her if she forced him to do this. "Hold on."

"I shouldn't have come back. Not for this. It was selfish."

His eyes filled and he willed himself to focus, because if there was a way to escape then it would be that much harder to hit a target if his eyes were puffed. The fucking comm link was dead. He pulled it from his ear and threw it away in disgust. He yelled for Clark, because Boy Scout should be able to hear and save them.

"Oliver, last night was borrowed time."

Last night was the best moment in his entire life.

He looked back at her to tell her that, but she was on her knees now, her lips bloodless. The device was killing her from the inside. For that at least he would think the bastards were humane, because they would kill her off before at the very last moment setting off the explosion.

"There's always something we can do," he assured her.

She shook her head. "We were living on borrowed time, Ollie. Ever since the exchange, ever since they took you, it was either you or me."

"Then it should be me!" Should have done was useless now, but he figured for the damned should have done was the only way out. "I was the one that was captured. I'm the one who's supposed to die."

And when she smiled, it struck him like a punch in his gut. Because she smiled but her eyes filled with tears, and she said she understood but he knew her well enough to read the distress on her face. "No. It was going to be me. It was always going to be me." And then she told him the truth that he had feared, the possibility that stayed in the back of his head ever since he learned that she wore Dr Fate's helment. "I saw your destiny, remember?" He hated destiny—hated the word when Clark used it, despised it even more now that Chloe believed this. "I knew you were destined for so much more than dying today."

"But you didn't see your fate," he insisted. He clenched his jaw, because she was being strong and did not deserve to see a mess. "I'm supposed to save you."

"No, you're not." She nodded, as if nodding at him would make him agree, like he was a child that could be tricked, like this was not the most preposterous thing she ever expected him to accept. "And you're still my hero."

He hated that word too. He liked it up until now. Right now when she used it he could feel how utterly inferior he was to what a hero was supposed to be.

He laid his lips on hers just because he needed to feel her, to hold her to him when she was pulling away. She licked her lips. "Now be a hero to everyone else. You have to do it, Oliver. You know you do." She kissed his lips, his cheek. She created a universe with her kisses. His skies lit up with a million stars that were memories of her tears shining as they rested on her lashes. "You're destined for greatness. Your name will be remembered by dozens of heroes who will follow on your footsteps." Every word that followed felt like a curse. "You'll get married. You'll have sons who are going to be as strong and as legendary as you are."

Nowhere in that destiny did she say her name, and Oliver could not accept what greatness there was in a life without her. "It doesn't matter."

"You'll forget me."

"Now I know you're lying," he gritted through clenched teeth, "because I would never forget you."

"We think people around us are irreplaceable," she said gently. "The truth is, you're going to fall in love one day and you're going to build a life, Ollie." And then she grabbed his shoulders. He felt her body tense as the pain rolled through her body. Afterwards she rested her head on his shoulder and Oliver pulled her up to her feet. But she hung from him, limp, looking up at him as shallow breaths passed through her lips.

"Doesn't mean I'll forget you. Doesn't mean I'll love anyone as much as I love you."

Her eyes were fading. "I didn't know it was going to be today." Oliver felt the cold metal of an arrow when she pressed it into his hand. "I'm dead anyway. I'm sorry it had to be this way." Chloe guided the tip of the arrow to her stomach, right there above the place where he had spent time last night kissing her. "I swear, Ollie, your life will be incomparable."

But he did not want to hear about a destiny she had seen, not during this.

He was glad for the shades that covered his eyes, glad even for the fire around him that he hoped would kill him afterwards. He felt her body react to the pain, to the device that was working its way from her heart, and in the space between her breaths he tightened his grip and clenched, then pushed the tip into her body.

Oliver heard her gasp, felt her blood pump slowly out of her body and spill onto his hand.

Her fading eyes met his, and she reached up and slowly pushed off the shades to reveal his eyes. "I want to remember them." So he looked at her, straight, unwavering. Her body slackened in his arms and her eyes drifted close. Oliver closed his lips over hers.

~o~o~

_Straightway the books of the world were all ended,_

_All friendships, all treasures restlessly cramming the vaults._

The Queen mansion was simple, quite tasteful. Zatanna had always been so used to looming displays of power. Shadowcrest was home to her because of how well it housed centuries worth of magic. The high ceilings and daunting portraits of her ancestors did not hurt either. Indeed, Shadowcrest thrummed with enough energy to power the multitude of earths that coexisted, stable enough to be the anchor among them all. She was quite proud of Shadowcrest. But the Queen Manor, again, was not something to scoff at.

She made her way up the grand teak staircase, newly polished. She looked down and saw her reflection on the surface and reached up to fluff her hair.

Over the years they had fallen one by one. For someone who had been nursing a death wish for decades it was quite odd and ironic that Oliver Queen would be the last to go. After seeing off so many of them one would think Zatanna would be spared a final goodbye to the very last one, but that was impossible. Once when they were younger and Oliver Queen was a specimen of a man she had sworn that she owed Oliver Queen one. The Zataras always kept their promises.

She walked down the corridor and spotted the master bedroom at once. There were two men posted outside like handsome guards. She nodded towards them and pushed through the door.

There were children playing or teenagers reading at the foot of the bed. Her eyebrows arched. She walked towards the bed and sat down on the side of it, causing it to dip slightly and the old man to open his eyes. Zatanna inclined her head and gave the old man a fond smile. She touched his face.

He chuckled. "How are you still so young and beautiful?"

"If I say magic, you'd believe me," she replied with a grin. Slowly her smile faded when she remembered how Bruce appeared in his waning years. Selena had grown old like him. And Zatanna had maintained her youthful appearance out of spite. Only even when they all died one by one she seemed to always be the one on the losing end. "It's not all that."

Oliver Queen licked his lips. Zatanna touched them briefly and brought back the moisture to the old skin.

"It took you almost half a century to call in the favor I owed you," she said to him, and she recognized the petulance on her voice. It almost seemed so ill-suited to a woman her age. She was glad it did not show. She glanced around the room, then said casually, "You have a lovely family." And Zatanna knew Oliver enough to know that was one of the promises of the Fate helmet. "You have everything."

Those old eyes crinkled, but they were as warm a brown as they always were. Those eyes never changed. "We both know that's not true," Oliver Queen returned, his voice a little raspy from use. "I don't regret a single one of those children, Zatanna. Their children—they were the joy in the twilight of my life."

Zatanna nodded. She had never had the chance to have a family. But she knew many other people who lost the chance as well. Bart was the one who died after Chloe, and the loss had been shocking. "It almost seems selfish that you would want more than what you were given," she said.

"Are you here to judge me?"

"I'm here to do you a favor because a Zatara's word is binding," she clarified. She took a deep breath, then asked, "What else do you want, Oliver?"

"Her."

She had expected that, but no matter how she wrapped her head around it she could not figure out how to give him what he wanted, not unless she woke demons and her magic would not support that.

"She was my whole world," the old man remembered in a soft voice. For a split second Zatanna thought his face morphed into that of a young man, without the burden of the world lining his skin. "When she left, I was gone."

Of course he would ask that. At the end of one's life was the clearest when it came to perspective. No one in the world even remembered Chloe Sullivan now. It was so long ago. Her name had long been forgotten. Outside in the world there was not one mention of her name in the decades since her death. Even Lois barely remembered her save for a little girl she had named after her cousin.

"You weren't meant to be together, Oliver," Zatanna said, patting the old man's hand. "That's why she died. This was the life you were always meant to live." And it was not a bad life at all. "You married a hero, just like you. You spent a lifetime fighting for your beliefs. You led the city out of the darkness."

Oliver pushed a button and his sons entered the room. At Oliver's request the children were escorted out. When they were alone, Oliver continued, "I had a short-lived marriage to a nice woman who let me forget for a few minutes before I retreated back to my memories. I fought a fight that never ended. I had two terms as mayor in a city that is going to plunge back into vice after I go."

"You had a beautiful life."

Old man Oliver was as stubborn as the playboy, Zatanna realized. "Not enough. You owe me, Zatanna. I'm calling in the favor. I want her." His breathing was shallow, and his chest puffed up and down while her stomach hollowed. "I'll take whatever you can give."

Zatanna pursed her lips. She opened her bag and looked for an incantation. She turned back to Oliver, then warned him, "She won't know you. And it would be—different. Not too different, but there are other people who choose a second chance. Circumstances are affected. So she's-"

"But it's still her?"

She nodded. "And you wouldn't know her."

He closed his eyes. "I'd know her wherever, whenever I wake up."

"Go on. Sleep."

"If I sleep, do I die?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "Yes." He grunted. "Do you need to see your family?" she offered. She had wanted to see her father before he died and she was not given the same opportunity.

"We've said our goodbyes. You were right. This was a lovely family, a wonderful life. But I'm ready for her, Zatanna. I've lived the destiny that Nabu had for me. Now I want to live the life I deserve."

And he smiled peacefully. The atmosphere of the home was peace, and she realized he had been waiting for this for so long. She took his hand and whispered, "At the end of your life, Oliver, who do you want to be?"

When he closed his eyes he was a young man again, his mouth of her skin, his universe filled with her kisses. "I want to be her hero."

Zatanna held his hand and whispered the incantation over and over again. When she opened her eyes, she turned back to the old man on the bed. His chest was still, and there was a smile on his lips. Light spilled into the room, and Zatanna blinked in surprise when she realized her eyes had filled with tears. She looked up and said, "Connor, I'm sorry."

"He's gone?" Zatanna nodded. "It's fine. He'd been preparing for that adventure for a long time. The Green Arrow's off to find the love of his life." Connor walked into the room and looked down at his father. He reached down and patted Oliver's still shoulder. "Good luck, dad. Thanks for staying around so long." He took a deep breath, and Zatanna recognized the brave face that hid the sudden grief. "I'll tell my brother."

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: One of my favorite poets is Neruda, and many of the stories I have written are anchored on lines from Neruda's poems. Every part of this story that I want to tell is anchored on Sonnet XC of the Hundred Love Sonnets.

**Part 3**

_The diaphanous house that we built for a lifetime together—_

_All ceased to exist, till nothing remained but your eyes._

She dreamed the night before, and in her dream she mattered. There were touches, strong hands, capable arms that held her like she something precious. In those dreams there was a universe of kisses that surrounded her, and her skies seemed lit with a thousand smiles that spoke to her as if she were the most valuable being in the world.

Her dreams were different, dizzying and strange. When she woke from her dreams she hung in a state where her heart slowly sank. It was a fleeting sort of feeling. After all, she lived a life that mattered. And yet she could not help but wish to grasp at the tails of that lost moment.

Above and beyond everything else, Chloe Sullivan wanted to matter. She wanted to matter so much she had thrown everything that she was to every simple thing she did.

All her life Chloe had been rather confident of her own overwhelming talent at research and writing. She was a sophomore when she knew she was going to beat out the junior and the seniors at the post of editor in chief at her high school newspaper. She had been a junior when Lionel Luthor offered her a column at the Daily Planet. In fact, she was just a junior when she was accepted into the Met U journalism college.

No. Chloe Sullivan had not lacked for much confidence in her life. To many of those who read her words she mattered, and still she could not help but feel it was an empty way she mattered, and that to someone else, she could become so much more.

With the confidence in her own talents came the good sense to understand her own shortcomings. She recognized them for what they were and accepted them as fact. Not everyone could appear as angelic as her high school friend Lana or as long-legged and curvaceous as Lois. But Chloe owned her features and knew immediately that it would be a struggle to fit into the clothes that she would be able to borrow from Lois. She had only just told Lex that there was an available wardrobe so he would get her the invitation she wanted.

Chloe figured she could go shopping like a mad woman with her cousin when the invitations were ready. Lois knew the best places to shop for costumes. She probably had a valued customer card by now.

"You have got to be kidding me. I have a closet full of stuff!" Lois exclaimed when Chloe broached the subject. They gray dreariness of her surroundings turned to color at the sound of Lois' voice. "What is it for?" came her question.

Not an hour after Chloe shared with Lois that she was going to the Isis Exhibit in Metropolis, Lois had come running to her with several dresses to choose from.

It was a sight that made her chuckle, and even more endeared her cousin to her. "Who else in the entire world would have four different Egyptian costumes hanging in their closet?" she asked, raising a short dress with crisscrossing straps at the back. The cups at the front immediately sent the dress back down on the bed. "Obviously that's not going to fit me."

"Then I'll wear it!" Lois proclaimed.

"You're coming?"

"I'll have my boss change my assignment," spilled the words from Lois' mouth. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Chloe looked at her cousin askance. This was not such a big deal for Lois to reschedule her work assignment. But one look at Lois' face at the mention of Queen's Isis Exhibit and she had been beyond herself.

"An ancient Egyptian exhibit in a museum is not breaking news," Chloe reminded Lois.

"It will change the world," was Lois' response. "Trust me." There was a huff of impatience, and finally, Lois exclaimed, "Here. Take this one." Lois took a dress at the bottom and handed it to her. "I got this for you a few months ago."

Why her cousin would ever buy her a costume Chloe would never know. How Lois knew enough to buy a dress that would incidentally enough suit the Isis Exhibit was an even bigger puzzle. But she took the cream halter dress and put it on, then turned around in front of Lois. "It fits!"

"It does," Lois murmured with a smile on her lips and full eyes.

Lois made arrangements for a car service to take the two of them, with Clark, to the museum gala. One look at the sleek towncar and Chloe's eyebrows rose. "Look who's a high roller now," she commented as the car rolled to a stop before her.

"We'll spare no expense tonight," Lois declared.

Something was special about tonight. At least it was special to Lois. Chloe threw a surreptitious glance at Clark and saw her friend pull at the neck of the suit he wore. Chloe's eyes widened.

It was so apparent how nervous Clark was in the car. The frown that marred his face was familiar, but Chloe had not seen it for some time—not since she introduced him to her cousin. It was true what they said, she realized. All the worries of the world fell from your shoulders the moment you met that person meant to spend a lifetime with you. Since Lana walked away and his father died, Clark had become the personification of gloom.

Lois had brought back the light in his eyes.

"You don't know how happy I am that nothing ever happened between the two of us," she told him once. And it was true. How she would ever face her cousin knowing Lois was his soulmate if Clark managed to get anywhere past a kiss Chloe would never know.

And having been nowhere past Clark's lips, Chloe could easily jump to the next conclusion in her head.

"You look like it's your wedding day," Chloe murmured, baiting Clark with a hint towards what she suspected was so special about that night. There was excitement and fear enough on her cousin's face that Chloe thought she suspected the exact same thing.

Lois looked at her wide-eyed. She looked towards Clark, and Chloe wondered at the panic in those eyes. She gave a small smile, and thought at once that Chloe looked devastated, so ill-suited to what she thought she would appear if Chloe was even half right. "I would love nothing more than for you to be my maid of honor if I ever do marry Clark," she said softly.

There was a trace of regret in those words. Chloe narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "I'd never miss your wedding day, Lois."

"Lois," Clark said, his deep voice rumbling in the car.

The car stopped. Chloe turned to the sight outside, at the flashing lights and the gathered crowd. She drew a deep breath. "Who would have thought that a museum gala to unveil Egyptian artifacts is going to draw this large of an opening night?" And then she remembered Lex's reference to the sponsor and knew at once that half of the crowd was there for Oliver Queen more than they were for Isis and Osiris. She was certainly there to see firsthand the treasures that Queen had marketed quite intriguingly as the oldest proof of eternal love. Chloe pushed the door open and turned when she felt the urgent grasp on her arm. "What is it?" she asked Lois.

When she noted Lois' brimming eyes, she turned quickly to Clark in confusion, but her best friend had already gotten off the car and was walking to Lois' door. Chloe looked back at Lois and placed a hand over her cousin's hand.

"You're acting really weird, Lo," she said slowly.

But then Lois whispered, "I just wanted to check on your makeup." Lois shook her head. "And then I realized it doesn't really matter. You look beautiful, Chlo." She sighed. Lois' door opened. "Come on. Let's go."

Her cousin had a secret. It was a secret that Clark knew. That was unfair, but then again Chloe did not want to know everything about the two of them.

The dress was simple enough. Lois knew her well, and did not select a garment for her that sparkled, or that fluffed, or that was so short that everyone would know half of her secrets by the time their gaze fell to the hem. But even in its sheer simplicity, the moment that Chloe walked into the large room it was like walking in a dream.

She walked towards a glass-encased artifact and studied the necklace that Lois would term as gaudy. Her eyes fell to the lit text that explained where the necklace had been found, and the supporting evidence that it was indeed Isis'—a god's gift to a goddess.

"I can't help but see you admire that necklace, Miss Sullivan."

Her gaze flickered up, and images of a sandy desert and a handsome prince disintegrated like so much sand from a shattered hourglass. When the grains dissipated it was Lex's gray blue eyes she saw. "Not at all concerned that someone could take a picture of us together, Mr Luthor?" she returned, knowing full well that any stolen photograph could be explained away easily if Lionel should ever wonder.

"I swallowed my pride to call Queen for your invitation. I should at least enjoy the benefit of seeing you in here," Lex informed her. He nodded at the necklace. "I wouldn't think that was your style."

"It's the sentiment I admire," she told him. "It's such a personal gift."

Chloe turned and noticed her cousin in a passionate discussion with Clark, and when Lois turned to look at her, Chloe's heart jumped to her throat. It was an expression so haunted, desperate, and another of her many shortcomings surfaced. She waved Lex off then stepped forward towards the two.

His hands closed around her shoulders, and Chloe heard him caution, "It's a private conversation."

"I can't stay in the sidelines," she answered.

Lex released her, and as she walked across the myriad artifacts that spoke about Isis and Osiris, and screamed volumes about a billionaire's unhealthy obsession to a timeless story, Chloe felt a warm prickle at her nape. Her heart slowed to strong, uneven pumps. She looked back behind her and saw that Lex had moved on to another conversation. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, focusing on every sound, every breath, every feeling that surrounded her.

He was here.

She opened her eyes and slowly turned her head.

Up above. It came from above.

The lights right below the platforms cast shadows above that rendered her blind. It was nothing but pitch darkness there, but Chloe knew somewhere above them all was the threat, that presence from her nightmares, that man that watched her die. For a second she debated going to Lex. Instead she turned back towards where she had last seen her cousin and where Lois had been arguing with Clark.

Now Lois stood alone. Her steps slowed, and the world outside of the two of them faded away. Chloe approached Lois and noted the deep frown that marred her face. At the sight of her, Lois broke into a gentle smile.

"I saw you arguing with Clark. What did he do now?" Chloe asked quietly. The server passed and Chloe took two flutes of champagne from his tray and handed one to Lois.

Lois' fake grin grew into a sincere small smile. "You always assume it's his fault," Lois protested.

"Because it almost always is!" Chloe parried. "And he knows it." And then she shrugged, because it did not really matter whose fault it was to anyone but her. "Besides, us cousins need to stick together."

At the statement Lois' eyes widened. She took a deep swallow of the champagne. "We're moving, Chloe."

She had been punched in the gut. Metaphorically, but no less real. Moving. Away.

"Move where?" she managed to choke out.

"You know, even I'm not so sure. But I'll make sure to let you know once we get there. They say it's gorgeous there."

Ridiculous. And utterly out of character. When she walked into the gala it was like walking into a dream, and suddenly it turned into some twilight zone where words spilled out of her cousin's mouth thoughtlessly, unbelievably, incredibly.

"Who moves without knowing where?" Chloe exclaimed.

"Chloe, Clark and I have been planning to do this for a long time," Lois told her gently.

If they were, she had heard nothing about it, and suddenly she was angry. Secrets. Damned secrets. Secrets that were revealed on the day when it seemed like nothing else could be done about them. She hated secrets. "If this is a long time coming, then what stopped you?"

"I really just wanted to make sure you're okay." And Chloe absolutely hated that her cousin sounded like she believed it was true. Lois and Clark were the two people she had left.

And God, Chloe wished so much she mattered more.

And then she saw it. It was a brief moment, but her keen observation caught the split second. Lois looked up over Chloe's head, right in the direction of the cast shadows, right where Chloe knew her nightmares stood watching. "Now you're here tonight and I know you will be." An imperceptible nod, perhaps acceptance. Lois met her eyes and said, "You'll be better than you ever were."

When Lois believed so fervently, it was hard to be angry.

"We lived together for a long time, Lois. You could have said something, talked to me. Why tonight, Lo?"

Tonight when she knew her nightmares were coming alive.

But Lois wrapped her in a tight embrace. Chloe felt her cousin's lips touch her cheek, and inexplicably tears rose in her eyes. Almost like this was an embrace that she had missed, that she should have had but never did. It was stupid, because they were more affectionate than many cousins she had seen before.

"You'll know soon enough. Remember, Chloe, I love you so much." And there was a hitch in her throat when she said. "I missed you."

Her head was whirling and the world was spinning still. Too much champagne, not enough rest.

Maybe.

But there was that feeling at the back of her neck, and those brown eyes, wherever they were, watched her like the darkness looming over her head.

And then Lois shook her head and she chuckled softly. "What am I saying? I mean, I'll miss you." Lois pulled away but held her hands. "There are times when you may not hear from me, or times when you might feel like I've forgotten about you but trust me, you're always in my mind every day."

Her cousin was so sentimental. She never knew how much.

Chloe wondered how Lois would live her life without her, if this was how she broke news of moving away.

"You're my sister," Lois said.

Overdramatic Lois. She was acting like one of them was dying.

"Lois, oh my God!" she finally exclaimed. "I can't believe you're talking like this. Do you want me to cry? We're in public!"

"No, no," Lois said quickly. "I'm sorry. Just—I know you're going to be just fine. And I'm so grateful I got to spend the last few years rooming with you, cuz."

And Chloe watched as Lois walked in search of Clark. She glanced behind her, half expecting a stranger with deep brown eyes to be standing there, watching her. A server came and retrieved Lois' empty champagne glass from the mantle. She nodded in acknowledgment, then glanced back at the shadows above her, locking her jaw.

Daring him to come.

After all, no matter the threat of that nightmare, Lois said she would be alright.

Chloe returned to the display cases, studied the thirteen golden jars inscribed with hieroglyphics that made little sense, but haunted her nonetheless as the symbols floated in her head. Isis would gather every piece of Osiris, Lex told her, and brave greater gods, the afterlife and all hell.

Everything to bring back the love of her life.

What kind of love, she wondered, made humans into gods capable of lengths as great as the ones that Isis took for Osiris?

The lights dimmed in the grand presentation room. Chloe looked up at the large screens that lined the walls. The words were simple enough, and a quick glance at the program packet told her that the video feed of the excavation would play for the next half hour. She started at the presence beside her. She looked up and saw the lights play on Lex's face as he watched the video beside her.

"A tale of eternal love," he read out loud. He looked down at her with a half-smirk.

"You think you're capable of that, Lex?" she asked softly, watching the grainy pictures document endless months of dirt and discovery. For a brief moment she caught a glimpse of who Lex indicated was Oliver Queen, hands on, head bowed low, as he poured over a leather-bound gold-crested book from an unearthed chest.

"You of all people know exactly what I'm cable of," he answered. After all, she was the only one in the entire world who knew that every action, every word, every thought—Lex's entire purpose in life was to reclaim himself and bring down his father.

It was a silent understanding. For that one goal the rest of the world would pale in comparison.

And she returned to the screen, watched the journey that documented the ancient mythology of Isis' descent into the darkness, her storied quest to bring back her lover.

The video drew to a close, and Chloe was haunted by images of Oliver Queen standing with his back to the camera, looking up at the ruined relics of Isis and Osiris standing tall and looking within the darkened pyramids that teemed with treasures. The excavation team knelt and worked feverishly to catalogue the treasures and the man who funded the entire adventure grasped in his hand a single lamp, throwing a light in the deteriorating monuments of the god and goddess that had until then been lost in time.

And the quiet question came as expected. "Do you think you're capable of all that, Chloe?"

What to her was unexpected was the answer that had been nonexistent until she saw the sweat-stained shirt and the cuts on the forearms of the billionaire who had descended from his skyscrapers to dig deep into ancient burial grounds for a tale that was nearly forgotten.

Above everything else in the world, Chloe Sullivan wanted to matter.

If she mattered to anyone even half as much as this story mattered to Oliver Queen—

If anyone mattered to her a fraction of the value that he had placed in Isis and Osiris—

"If I love someone enough," she answered truthfully.

He turned to her, and the quiet acceptance spoke volumes louder than the speakers that told the story of the discoveries. Lex nodded, then looked down at his wrist where the diamond-studded watch winked under the lights. "I'm about to meet my father in an hour. Should I wait for you?"

It was such an easy out, and Chloe was flustered for a moment. And then she looked back towards Lois. She shook her head.

~o~o~

_So long as we live, or as long as a lifetime's vexation,_

_Love is a breaker thrown high on the breakers' successions;_

Death. Resurrection. Rebirth.

It could have well been the tagline of the gala; it could have been the tagline of his life.

Shadowcrest boasted little of the luxuries that made the Queen manor the estate that it was, but there was one thing about Shadowcrest that reversed Oliver's decision about offloading it. In the dark of the night when Oliver assessed the property for a possible resale, Oliver Queen stumbled across a grand library of tomes and histories, of legends that turned real, of myths that were truly men. The Zatara's library was a treasure trove, he discovered. It was a haven fi to get lost in when nothing the world held his interest beyond one night.

Above everything in the world, Oliver Queen wanted to have a purpose.

For far too long he had been a ship without a sail, courseless as the current took him forward or back, to one direction of the other, snug and warm in a cabin that blocked out the rest of the world.

"What do you want, Oliver?"

For every occasion he was asked, Oliver could name not a single thing he wanted. It was the simplest, most complicated question of all. There was no gift. Gifts were inappropriate. What would a man ask for, when he had the means to get everything he wanted in life?

Above it all, Oliver wanted a purpose. But it could not be wrapped in fancy paper, not topped off with a curly ribbon to be presented on a special day.

The discovery of the ancient Egyptian mythology book, lined at the borders with scribbles from Giovanni Zatara, Zatanna's father, enraptured Oliver. He drowned himself in assumptions, in the notations that told him what black magic was afoot. But Oliver grew more and more obsessed when the story dove into enumerating the sacrifices that Isis had done for the man she loved. And then he realized of the great story that it was, the anecdotes that stood out the most before his discovery, the facts that his less educated mind knew beforehand, was a phallus made of gold and the fact that there was incest. And during the discovery of the tale he recognized there was so much more than the world needed to know.

Then Oliver Queen had a purpose. He would bring light to Isis and Osiris and ensure that the world would remember what eternal love was.

At the opening of the gala, it seemed to him that his purpose was achieved. He had even Lex Luthor, as cynical as the man was that he remembered, calling for invitations for someone he knew was intrigued by the concept. His purpose was served, as Metropolis had been abuzz at the amazing discovery, at the success of the project. So Oliver walked up to the loft section and looked down at the gala half full of those who were curious about the artifacts and half full of those who were curious about Oliver Queen.

Months gone and at his return it was almost like Metropolis never changed.

And then he heard them.

It was odd. Strange. Impossible. But Oliver swore he heard. There was a shift in the air, a movement of the earth, and for a split second he thought that time stood still.

The deafening murmurs quieted and even breaths seemed to stop between a beats of a heart. Oliver swore he heard footsteps of a soul just arrived, thought he felt heartbeat thrum in the air, close enough that he could hear her from a distance. His gaze focused on the crowd, searching madly for something that appeared out of place.

He grasped the railing and he watched as a golden head moved through the displays, reading each and every one of the text entries, drinking in the sight of each artifact like she was a scholar of Isis. But the woman interacted with reporters he had met a time or twice, spoke with Luthor until Oliver realized this was the guest who had been curious about the story.

And then Oliver noted how the woman slipped away from the crowd and walked towards the cordoned area and pushed open the door marked restricted for excavation project staff, who had long gone home after the gala proved to be a success. Oliver raced down the steps, following the woman to the restricted section of the museum.

When he made his way to the room where the excavation team had placed the other unlabeled artifacts in shelves, Oliver saw the blonde up high on a ladder looking through a box. Luthor was right. His guest was enamored of the tale. So enamored that she was probably breaking enough rules to get her banned from the museum for life.

"Hey!" he barked out to get attention.

The woman released the box and spun quickly in surprise, and Oliver's eyes widened when he saw the ladder teeter and wobble. The lights shut around them and Oliver heard the door slam shut behind him. The room was pitched into blackness and he heard a muffled squeal and a loud crash.

The groan that followed assured him that the woman was alive. He pushed at the door. Locked. The blackout had locked them inside. At least he knew the discoveries were safe because the security worked well.

He walked over to her and hesitated a mere split second. She had raised a lighted phone. "There's no signal, but it's a second-rate flashlight," she said breathlessly. And then she hissed. Oliver knelt in front of her. He quickly moved to check on her ankle and pressed. Oliver's hands hit the floor at the sudden barrage of images in his head, and he sucked in his breath.

The room was burning. There was not enough air. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and drew in a deep breath.

The world slowly righted itself. They were stuck in the inventory room, but they were fine.

"Oliver Queen, right?" she said tentatively.

"That's right," he answered.

"I'm Chloe," she told him, and he thought that was the most beautiful name he'd ever heard.

"Sorry about surprising you. I'm not supposed to admit liability in case you sue."

"But I'm not exactly allowed in here," Chloe answered, "so I think you're covered." She groaned when he pressed at her ankle. "It's not broken, is it?"

With the dim light of their combined cellphones, Oliver inspected the damage. "It feels like you just bruised it a bit. You'll be fine." He stood up and assisted her to test her weight on the ankle, and then he whispered, "I've got you."

She held on to him as she placed her weight back on her ankle. "It hurts a bit, but nothing broken," she told him. And then she held onto him as he helped her sit back down. Oliver pulled a box over for her to sit. "I hope I'm not sitting on some ancient Egyptian footstool." She made a face. "Or a jar of mummified organs."

Oliver grabbed the phone and peered at the label. "Those are broken bricks."

So she sat down and Oliver could her smile in the dim light.

"What is it?"

"I didn't think I was going to have the chance to actually interact with Oliver Queen," she said. "But here we are."

And there they were.

Oliver swallowed. He needed water. His heart was racing. His heart did not nearly react so much when Zatanna approached him at the bar and here he was with a woman whose face he barely saw, and all he could imagine was a universe of kisses. So he focused instead on pressing his thumb on a swell of blood in her ankle, from the accident he himself caused.

"I knew you'd be busy with all your guests, and now I can say I spent more than five minutes with Oliver Queen," Chloe told him. "I didn't expect a chat, least of all that tonight I could call you my hero."

At the word, Oliver's gaze flew from the ankle to the darkened face above him. The word was—

"I'm no hero," he rasped.

She leaned back against the shelves. "I beg to differ. I watched an entire documentary and saw you work for something you believe in. I know what you've done to put all this together. Someone told me about your reputation in Star City, but now I feel like I know you," she told him. Her fingers brushed his arm. Oliver thought there was a spark of electricity running from her fingertip through his veins.

Oliver released her foot, then looked back at her. His heart thundered in his ears. She may as well have been faceless.

He wished the lights would come on so he could see her. Just for a split second. That would be enough to burn her face in his brain.

"You made me believe in love," she confessed. "And if that doesn't make a hero, then at least helping a stranger who could have broken her ankle through her own fault makes you one."

She was talking about the exhibit, he reminded himself. The entire excavation had always been to prove that a love like Isis' and Osiris' truly existed—that it was not fiction, or a dream, or a lie.

But even then, Oliver waded through the haze she brought with her nearness. He placed his hands on either edges of the box where she sat and moved closer to her in the darkness. His eyes drifted closed and he laid his lips on hers. "Maybe I'm a hero only to you." And this time, it was more than enough. Her lips parted underneath his, and Oliver kissed her.

And before he realized it, his hands rose to cup her cheeks and he felt the tears on his thumbs.

"Why are you crying?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," she answered. And then her arms went around his back and she held on to him tightly.

His arms closed around hers and tightened with an embrace. The deafening noise in his ears slowly faded.

_I'd know her wherever, whenever I wake up._

"Chloe," the name flew from his lips. The name made sense the way names did not.

_She won't know you._

His thumbs brushed over her face in the darkness. The memories were fuzzy, but bits of pieces floated in his mind and he knew this was exactly what he needed. She was why he was here.

His purpose. His sole purpose in this life.

And then he heard the long alarm of the security release. He closed his lips over hers. The door groaned, then slid open and threw a light into the inventory room. Their mouths parted and when he lifted his head to drink in the sight of her face, her eyes fluttered open and she gazed back at him.

Her eyes grew wide with surprise, with fear.

"Your eyes," she murmured. "I remember your eyes."

And then she struggled to her feet, pushed away frantically and made her way to the door. Oliver called her name, then ran after her. But she was gone, and so was Lex Luthor. He gasped for breath. Oliver looked around him and saw the entire museum, the displays, the artifacts, the uninhibited proclamation of the immortal tale.

Loose threads of memories teased the edges of his brain.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: One of my favorite poets is Neruda, and many of the stories I have written are anchored on lines from Neruda's poems. Every part of this story that I want to tell is anchored on Sonnet XC of the Hundred Love Sonnets.

**Part 4**

_But when death in its time chooses to pummel the doors—_

_Ay! There is only your face to fill up the vacancy._

In her consciousness there was death. In her nightmares there was love. In that single moment that was burned into her brain forever—where pain and fulfillment meshed together well and wove strands of another life—there were his eyes.

And then, in that split second when it was the most painful, there was his kiss.

Her fingers were tentative when they rose to touch her lips. Right there. When she closed her eyes he was there, pressed against her while she hovered between then and now. One moment she sucked in air, and then his mouth covered hers and she exhaled into his kiss.

"What happened?"

Chloe opened her eyes, pulled out of the reverie by the quiet voice. The gray blue tint of Lex's gaze was intent on her, and she looked up at him. But there were no words. How did one describe the precise moment when she kissed him and felt like everything she had been searching for was right there on his skin? He was a stranger, a stranger who was not a stranger only in her nightmares. And only because then he was her killer.

"Oliver Queen," he concluded.

Whatever it was he saw in her eyes convinced him, because his hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles grew white. Chloe reached forward and rested a hand on his taut arm. "No," she whispered.

Because Lex was right. Out of all the people in the world, she knew best what he was capable of.

Even at that moment when she answered, she could not understand why.

Except she imagined how his skin tasted, how his kiss had taken her breath away.

Oliver Queen was going to be the death of her, and for all the reasons she could not completely comprehend she did not care enough.

"No," she said instead.

Like the nightmares was just a nightmare when she saw those eyes herself, pieced them together with the very real pain when she teetered in the brink of death. When you died in your dreams, you died. And even then—"No, Lex. It wasn't him."

And she could feel Lex's cool blue eyes burning the back of her head, but still she kept her eyes towards the window, at the streetlights and the buildings where they passed. It was a pleasant neighborhood, but far from the penthouse where he lived. Definitely far from the long road that led to Smallville, far from the cousin she knew would not be home, far from home.

Most important of all—"This is a place where my father wouldn't find you."

At the end of it all, no matter how much he cared, this was the end all, the be all, that one goal.

She straightened in her seat, and realized the day of the reckoning had come. Far too long they had spoken in vague, indefinite terms of the time when the entire world would crumble around Lionel Luthor. Above all else, she knew, Lex wanted to be free of the man. And for far too long the goal had been a lofty one, one that never turned into concrete objectives, into action steps. Lex stopped the car outside a tall building that loomed and drew the eye with that large stained glass window face and she knew the time had come.

At the end of the street there was a newspaper vendor, with a coffee cart sitting to his side. She was going to visit that cart, in those rare instances when she stepped into a world that existed outside.

So she got off from the car and followed him into the building, entered the elevator that reflected her quite readily. Chloe looked at her reflection, wondered at the flush of her cheek that had not been there before, marveled at the way her eyes glinted.

Tonight she shimmered, like the entire world paled in comparison to her, like the world grew that much dimmer, like she shone a little bit brighter. Even the dark hallway lit up in her eyes—

Her lips throbbed, her heart thundered.

And my God, how her entire world changed with one kiss.

"Chloe, come here."

And she wondered if Lex noticed the guilt that flushed over her when she snapped back to reality and followed him into the large room, empty save for a spiral staircase that led to a loft. He stood at the center of it and Chloe stepped into the room. Her gaze moved to the round window right behind him, and for a moment she cringed at the image of a body crashing through.

She started, and realized it was Lex that grabbed her arm. His brows furrowed in concern. "What is it?" And then he cursed. "Is it that nightmare? If you can't focus, we can't do this."

"I'm fine," she answered, strengthening her voice, affirming her conviction. "I can do this." Because Lionel Luthor, whatever they said, was the man responsible for the deaths of LuthorCorp employees that included her father. And if that was too much of a leap, then she had him for the murder of his own parents. She mattered. In this case she mattered. In this, she held all the aces.

"Good. Because I can't do this without you, Chloe," Lex told her, and it was music to her ears. "This will be your hideout. When I said you need to move to Metropolis, I was serious. No more commuting to Smallville. I can't have you that close to my father. Do you have a problem with that?"

Lois had already said goodbye.

"No."

"Good. There's a room that's furnished. Use it until we figure out how to set up an investigation in this space."

"Alright."

"I want this to be over, Chloe. The sooner he falls, the sooner we can move on."

The desire was right on his face, the hunger so strong and clear. When Lionel fell, and Lex Luthor rose, then the mission was complete. And then she would be unnecessary. So, she feared, would he. And then she would be left, once more. "Where will you go?"

Finally there was peace on his expression, peace that he had never had before. To Chloe he had not looked younger, more content, than when he imagined the fall of his father. It was all in her hands, that peace. All in the evidence she held tightly to her chest, safe where only she knew how to access.

He looked almost as vibrant as she did when she glimpsed her own reflection, while her lips prickled with Oliver Queen's kiss.

"I don't know," and on his face she recognized the same acceptance that Lois had when she said goodbye. "And I don't care. But I know we have to take him down."

Chloe swallowed, and then she promised, "Okay." Because she was not going to deny Lex Luthor the prospect of something that made him shine the way he did right then. "Whatever it takes."

She mattered now, and even if afterwards she faded into nothing then at least she served her purpose—even once.

"Thank you." Before he left, he turned back to her and said, "I'm not kidding, Chloe. Tell me what it is that scares you. Tell me who, and I will bring down everything on him." He paused, and in that heavy, pregnant pause, Chloe thought she saw a part of Lex he reserved only for his father. "Even if it's Queen."

A frisson of fear, a jolt of panic. Her hand tightened around his wrist, and she denied, "And I said it's not him. Listen to me Lex. Stay away from Oliver Queen." It must be her imagination. Her voice could not possibly have sounded like a threat. Not to Lex. Not for that man. "Promise me."

One curt nod of acknowledgment from a man who did not need to humor her.

And then Chloe was alone, standing in the center of the space. She heard a steady thrum in her ears. She closed her eyes and listened. Thought it was impossible. But there it was, strong, steady, right there at her ear, like she was pressed close to that heartbeat.

She looked around that large space, the emptiness, and wondered why it was that she heard it still. And it was quiet. But it was the most sound that rocked her world. Every breath, every second, and she was nearer to him.

That night she dreamed, and in her dream she sat on the edge of a bed—feathersoft, smooth like silk. On the edge of the bed she looked down at a still face and her hand reached out and trailed across the bare warm skin of his chest. She felt her lips curve, and Chloe in that dream his face was clear. His closed eyes hid nothing, and her heart was sluggish in her chest and her gaze drank in his features.

"Oliver," the name flew like an exhale from her lips.

And that was when he opened his eyes, and those brown eyes frightened her for nothing more than the way they crinkled when he greeted, "Morning."

And it was like it was just one of many mornings together. Her body moved of its own will when she slithered up against his body and he said to her, "I love you."

She breathed, like the declaration was part of the air and she could inhale and trap the words inside her. Chloe rested her head on his chest, her ear right there above his heart, and she said in return, "I love you."

His heartbeat was steady in her ear.

When she woke, she wondered if it was a nightmare. It must have been. His skin, his breath, his heartbeat. Never once had she mattered as much as she did in those few seconds. It was the most beautiful nightmare in the world, just because she knew while she said those words that it was all a dream.

She wandered into the hallways of the university as she found her classes from muscle memory—a turn here, a dozen steps in that direction, a few seconds from one floor to the other. She arrived at her class a few minutes early and Chloe's attention drifted to the newspaper held up by one of her classmates who sat waiting on the bench.

The must have been reading the sports page, because the lifestyle section weaved as a small wind blew in and out. Chloe stared at the photograph printed in color. Black and white would have taken life from his eyes, and in that shot Oliver Queen looked so alive. Of course his face would grace the Lifestyle pages. After last night's gala, Oliver Queen proved himself an icon.

She envied him for a second, envied his purpose, wondered what it took to be as much in control of his destiny as he appeared.

The class before theirs was dismissed, and the students milled out, for a time obstructing her view of the newspaper and his face. Chloe's gaze fell to the floor. When the corridor cleared it was sharp eyes that drew her attention back up. Chloe met the curious gaze of the woman who now offered the newspaper to her.

"Do you want it?"

She had not seen her before in class, wondered if the professor allowed sit-ins so late in the semester. But Chloe accepted the paper and murmured her thanks. The paper warmed under her arm, almost like touching his image on paper was the same as touching his skin. The woman took a seat beside her in class. Chloe's eyes skimmed through the article that told her much of everything she had already assumed the night before.

Was surprised that for the benefit, for the excavation, for that contribution, not one of them called him a hero.

_Maybe I'm a hero only to you._

It was a pity, how no one else could see. He seemed built to be a hero, fit enough to become everything they needed. Yet no one else knew what she did, no one else saw. Even if her nightmares came true, and he killed her, she did not matter enough to reverse all the good that he could do.

She shook her head. How stupid, how completely insane.

"Hello Chloe."

The sound of her name surprised her. It was a stranger's voice, a woman she had not met save for the kind gesture of lending her the paper. Chloe looked back up to the woman who sat beside her. The woman smiled, and it was affecting, charming, and drew a smile from Chloe in return.

"Don't be scared," she said said, as if it ever worked on anyone who already was fearful. "My name is Zatanna." And even she seemed to find humor in the quirky name that a small grin played on her lips. At the sound of the name Chloe's heart swelled and rose, like she was supposed to feel something, and then discovered it was gratitude. For a stranger. Whatever had she done?

Maybe because of the paper. But the nameless feeling overwhelmed her, like she owed Zatanna much more. And suddenly, she was not scared at all.

"I came to talk to you about your dreams."

Chloe was frozen in her seat. The world paled around her, like Zatanna sucked in the colors until the only thing vibrant in Chloe's eyes was Zatanna herself. Gone were the sounds surrounding them, and Chloe felt the two of them encapsulated, unaffected by the rest of the class.

"I'm here to fix a little mistake." Zatanna reached out a hand, and despite her better judgment Chloe placed a hand in the outstretched one. "I came to take away the nightmares."

That intense pain that went beyond her consciousness.

The dream from that morning when for the first time she mattered to someone enough to love her, when someone mattered so much she loved him too.

Death as opposed to love. With those same brown eyes the two seemed to come together, inextricably.

"You should not be having those nightmares," was the simple explanation, "and I can take them away." That was why. That was how she could so easily speak to her, because Zatanna could take away the memories, even of these few minutes. "I can make it go away." Those clear eyes narrowed and Zatanna sat forward. "I don't know what went wrong, but if you say yes then you won't have to be afraid anymore."

"The dream when I died," Chloe said tentatively.

"I'll make it vanish," Zatanna swore. "And you won't dream of it again. All the pieces that come along with it—"

"His eyes—"

"Everything," Zatanna assured her. "You shouldn't have any of it. But you are bringing things into this world that you shouldn't." And she muttered under her breath. "You're breaking boundaries, inviting ghosts, and I need to make sure they're blocked."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"This is another chance, not a continuation of something you already lost." Zatanna huffed, like she had been cheated. "And that is how all of your ghosts have treated it."

Zatanna must have been her father's princess, Chloe thought idly, for the reaction she had—offended at the thought that she had been one-upped. The words reminded her of Lois, of the night, of the moment she said goodbye.

"Why not?"

The breath released from her lungs quickly. The world spun, faster and faster until she knew by the end memories would vanish like they were never there. In panic Chloe clutched Zatanna's wrist and broke her hold.

"Listen to me," Zatanna insisted. "If you don't let the past go, then it will all happen again. And I don't have enough power to conjure another round of this!"

She stood abruptly from her seat, and the fine barrier that seemed to isolate the two of them from the rest of the class shattered. The colors shifted, and Zatanna was no longer as vivid, the world no longer so pale in comparison to her.

"If you don't let go, it will happen again," Zatanna whispered.

The professor cleared his throat, calling their attention to the disruption they caused.

"All you have to do is say yes, and you begin again."

She would forget the pain; that was Zatanna's promise. Chloe would forget the day she died, and how he killed her. But then, she would forget his eyes. His eyes, that when they opened in her dream told her he loved her before he said the words. She would forget his skin, forget the universe his kisses painted above the two of them.

And she drew a breath, then said, "No."

Chloe turned on her heel and ignored the curses in a language she knew was older than time. Zatanna's words of warning floated in her head, muddled, almost senseless now, incredible enough she wondered if the woman had lost portions of her sanity. She walked out of the classroom rather than invite questions, and for a minute or three as she drew away from Zatanna her heart grew lighter.

"Chloe, we need to talk this through."

And right there, trailing her, was the beautiful woman who made her head spin.

But she did not want to forget. She could dream of the pain, only if it meant she could dream of him too.

When she burst out of the halls, out the doors of the building the cool air greeted her with cold bite. Chloe glanced back at where Zatanna stood. And there was Zatanna behind her, watching, waiting. And for a split second Chloe was relieved because the woman made no move towards her.

"Believe it or not, I'm doing this for you." And then, Chloe heard the hitch in her breath. There was a second's pause. "For Oliver."

She knew so much, knew everything impossible for her to know. Her world, her family, her place—they were all suddenly so incomprehensible.

"You know I'm right. You know you believe me," was the gentle reminder, the stubborn emphasis on something Chloe did not want to accept. But despite her refusal to believe, the world around her crumbled just a little by virtue of those words.

"This isn't real," Chloe realized.

And for the ridiculous possibility of it, its utter stupidity and her incredulity perhaps made it true most of all.

For a brief moment she remembered the sadness in her cousin's expression when Lois promised that Chloe would be her maid of honor at her wedding.

_I really just wanted to make sure you're okay. Now you're here tonight and I know you will be._

"No," Zatanna answered. "And it's never going to be real as long as you hold on to those memories."

Memories, she said. Memories now, not nightmares, not dreams.

The realization dawned so slowly, so agonizingly slow. Her entire world sank.

And then that one extended hand. "I should have expected that you'd be stubborn. Just take my hand. Once you forget this world would be more real than you can even imagine."

The outstretched hand did not tempt her at all. Chloe looked down at the hand, then back up at Zatanna. The air around her grew colder still, and she wondered if it was because she upset the other woman even more. If she had a part in this, then Chloe's head spun at the sheer power in that proffered hand.

One blink of an eye and then she was standing alone in the desolate steps outside the building. She shivered with each step that she took as she descended onto the street. There was a darkness that crept at her feet, and she took the steps even more quickly down. And then she was running, running through the streets outside where it started to rain, heavy drops of water drenching her, the frozen air for a moment blocking away the scorching flames that licked at her consciousness.

How long she ran she did not know. Where she went, she could not control. But she took the street so quickly and intently that the next thing that she knew she walked past guards who were dumbfounded at the drenched young woman who tore through the lobby. Chloe huddled inside an elevator, looking up at the reflected version of herself, pale from the cold and chilled from the rain. She stepped off the elevator without knowing where she was, and then Chloe threw open closed doors that led her right there.

And she stood, stock still, toe to toe. Her gaze rose until she was looking up at him, warm brown eyes familiar and puzzled at the sight.

"Chloe," he said in surprise, and the way her name played upon his tongue sent a tight coiled spring into her belly.

Chloe looked up at him, and her hand lifted, like it had a will of its own. She touched his face and then told him honestly, "You're going to destroy me." His breath caught, but she continued, "And I'll let you."

"Why?"

She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. Chloe held onto his jacket and pulled him down, murmured low in her throat at the sensation of his lips caressing hers. When the kiss was over she burrowed into arms that wrapped around her without hesitation, and Chloe pressed her cheek onto his chest, her ear right there where his heart beat.

It was the exact same beat from her sleep.

Death crept slowly, certainly, as close as Zatanna had warned. But in his eyes she mattered. And that—in wherever she was, in whatever this was-could be her salvation.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: It's the 23rd and I am not done with my Christmas shopping. Here's to hoping I don't get stranded as I brave the malls. Let me know what you think of this part. Cheers to all of you.

**Part 5**

_Only your clarity pressing back on the whole of non-being,_

_Only your love, where the dark of the world closes in._

His arms were full of her, full to overwhelming, and Oliver stepped back and allowed the door to shut behind her. It was bright outside still, so Oliver squeezed her arms and excused himself to shut down the blinds. In the background he heard his phone ringing. Oliver was loathe to break the thick air that surrounded them. If he did not answer his security would come barreling in. One glance at Chloe convinced him.

Oliver pushed the answer button on the speakerphone and made sure that no one would come to break into the world her presence immediately created.

The girl—this stranger—Chloe—

He licked his lips and then he heard his own voice, so gravelly it was almost unfamiliar. "You're soaked." Whatever had possessed her to run through the rain and straight into his office, however she knew how to get there when all they found about each other were names—

He thanked his infamy, that at least while he worked to find her Chloe found herself at his doorstep. Oliver turned and took a clean, dry tower from the private bathroom adjoining his office and handed it to her. She looked up and for a beat appeared puzzled. It was a towel. But he did not blame her. He was in a state of perpetual confusion these days.

So he offered her his hand, and she took it.

And for a split second there were dim golden lights surrounding them as the room pitched into a street corner and darkness. And only then, it was her bright smile, her bright hair a halo around her head, and a rush of blood to his head.

"_Be careful, Ollie. Or I'm going to start to think you're falling for me."_

The breath rushed from his body in a quick exhale. Slowly his eyes adjusted, and they were back, right there in his office, and he held her hand tentatively. As he returned he willed himself to remain grounded. Oliver reluctantly pulled his hand away and then with the towel dabbed at the sides of her face, at her neck, until slowly he saw her return from whichever place her own thoughts brought her.

He wondered if it was an oddly familiar street corner, a few blocks down from his building, seconds from the café he frequented since coming to Metropolis.

"How?" he asked. Chloe took the towel from his grasp. Beads of water rolled from her hair, trailing a path down her neck. Oliver watched as droplets hung from her chin and sparsely rained onto the heavy cloth of her soaked blouse. Later he would find a way to get her into dry clothes. But now—"You said I'm going to destroy you." It was impossible, but the fear in her expression was real. "How?"

And she closed her eyes. Oliver saw the wet lashes tremble briefly as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Did she see her death, right then, when her lips parted and she breathed out softly, when air caught in her throat? He reached out a hand and brushed away the water that gathered in that hollow of her throat, then said, "Tell me how, because hurting you is the last thing I'd willingly do."

And then her eyes fluttered open, and they were so close as he leaned over her. Her parted lips shone under the light of the office, and all he could remember was the look on her face as the brief teasing moment in that memory, as they stood in the night under the streetlight and he held her hand.

He heard the muffled sound when the moist towel dropped at their feet. He felt her fingers, tentative at first, then self-assured when she grasped his head and pulled him down for a kiss. Oliver slanted his lips over hers.

Was this not odd, he thought, for this to be so natural when those words haunted him.

She gasped against his mouth, and then her other arm hooked at his nape. She pressed her body against him and he felt his tighten in response. Twenty four hours. Not even. He had not known Chloe for longer than a day, but she was as familiar as a lifetime. His hands settled on her waist and then, like he was propelled by a knowledge that was deep-seated in the pit of his stomach, Oliver navigated the floor blindly until she was pressed back against the blinds of the glass windows.

The blinds clattered from behind her. Oliver felt the warmth of her body despite the rain-soaked clothes, groaned deep in his throat when the warmth intensified as she parted her legs. She clutched at his coat now, pushed her body against his and kissed him so intensely he thought she was bound to take his breath away.

He cupped her cheek.

Froze.

Slowly he raised his head and looked down at her. He had been so lost, and so had she. She blinked up at him and he looked down at her, knew the warm wetness that streaked her face was not the rain.

The voice that tore from his chest was harsh, and for a moment he envied her the horror of her own imagination, of her dreams, of whatever it was inside her head that scared her about him. Perhaps if he could have a glance, he would have control. "I'm sorry," he said. But he needed to know, needed to take the situation in his hands. Because even though the entire universe conspired against them, she was his purpose.

Oliver Queen did not back down in the face of ancient ruins and curses, did not buckle under the pain of losing his parents and taking the reins of billions at a young age. Oliver Queen had faced more than many of his peers had faced, like the obstacles were made for more than one lifetime.

For some reason, it struck him that this would be the most important challenge of all.

She shook her head, urged him closer by leaning up into his arms.

"What did I do?" he asked. And then, like fear clawed up his throat he asked afterwards, "What did you see?"

But she licked her lips, and the very gesture sent a thrill up his spine. She was a stranger and every little thing was familiar, like it was part of the way he breathed, the involuntary beat of his heart. "You'll think I'm crazy."

"Maybe you are," Oliver answered thoughtfully. "I'm already sure that I am. From the moment I saw you yesterday I knew what I felt, how quickly I felt it, how intense it was-it wasn't sane." And then his thumb brushed across her bottom lip. "I figure if I go insane and you'll be a part of my life then sanity is overrated." He took a breath, then realized, "Tell me, Chloe. And then we'll be crazy together."

He could see the storm in those eyes, the confusion, the sheer reluctance. And for a brief moment he thought she was stubborn like she always had been, stuck in that place in her head where she thought she would keep him safe.

Oliver swallowed, rested his forehead against hers as he fought the words that threatened to spill from his chest. Because Oliver Queen did not say those words. Because if Oliver Queen said them, she would label it a line. Because no one in their right mind would ever utter that statement after twenty four hours.

But they had already agreed that they were far from sane, as long as they were together.

"You're the reason that I'm here, the only reason I know." Even though he did not truly know.

For a few brief seconds Oliver thought she would tell him. Her green eyes moved like she was conflicted, and Oliver grabbed the moment and closed his lips over hers, breathed deeply and washed away the permanent scent of soot and blood that permeated his senses from the day he was born. Her fragrance drenched over him as she returned the kiss.

"I need to go," she gasped when she finally pulled away. She kept her eyes on the ground, and Oliver reached forward to tip her chin up.

"I can't avoid whatever it is that scares you if you don't tell me."

"I don't know you."

Softly, he rejected the idea, "That's a lie. You know that's a lie." And then he told her, "If you feel what I feel, then you know that you don't know anyone else in the world as well as you know me."

She stepped backwards, farther and farther away from him, and Oliver wanted nothing more than to reach for her and keep the shortest distance possible between them. But there was fear enough that warred in her gaze. He took deep breaths, one at a time. A breath at a time and he would gain understanding, patience which he lost steadily as he slowly seemed to lose her.

"If I tell you—if you remember—" Her eyes closed briefly, and the vision sent a cold finger down his spine, and he realized he abhorred the sight of her eyes closed. She looked like death. It was a vision that rendered him motionless. And then her eyes opened and Oliver burned the green eyes into his brain. "The more memories we have, the more it will happen again. That's what she said."

She.

"Who?" he demanded.

There was one woman he had seen her speak with, one other soul she knew. That reporter. Chloe and that reporter—Lois Lane—spoke intently in the museum. He made a note to look up Lane.

Until the name that struck him cold and speechless.

"Zatanna."

His expression smoothed, and the day that Zatanna stepped into his life more than a year ago played back in his head. That impossible night when the gorgeous woman strode into his life and, without preamble, offered him her home. "Zatanna," he repeated quietly.

But she had said more than she wanted, more than she had assumed was allowed. Oliver's hands fisted at his sides as he prevented himself for reaching for her. Desolate in the center of the office, Oliver watched as she closed the door behind her.

He paused for a beat. Two.

Chloe had walked into his life, twice now. Oliver was not a man to sit and wait. He picked up the towel from the floor and tossed it over onto the couch. Then he strode to where he had left his coat hanging and put it on. Without thought to what he left behind Oliver stepped outside and took his own elevator down to the lobby and caught a glimpse of her as she hurried out of the building. The car waited for him, parked outside in the driveway.

"Follow the cab," he instructed the driver.

It was barely ten minutes when they stopped outside the building he had admired many times before until he discovered that it was under Lex Luthor's name. Oliver sat back in his seat and he watched Chloe enter the building surreptitiously. Oliver sat forward when a familiar convertible pulled up at the front of the building. He knew that Lex knew her, but suddenly the appearance of Lex Luthor at that moment sent warning bells in his head. Lex got off the car and entered through the same door that Chloe had taken.

Oliver slammed out of the car. He had no reason to be there, but still he crossed the street towards the building with those stained glass large windows he had imagined flying through.

He had the full intent of following them until he was stopped by a vaguely familiar face. Oliver turned towards the man who stood several feet away on the street. The man had been at the museum ball with Lane, and stared intently at him that it was impossible not to inquire, "Do I know you?"

Slowly, the man nodded, the puzzled gaze running from head to toe. "Or maybe you don't. My name is Clark Kent. I came here to talk to you."

If he did he would have proceeded to Queen Tower. It was obvious this was an afterthought, or the man was quick—supernaturally so. "I have something to do. You should schedule an appointment. I have a secretary."

Oliver turned and proceeded towards the building. And then he heard, "Over the last few months I've had revelations that threw me off."

Oliver paused briefly, then glanced back at Clark. "I don't see how that concerns me."

"Because I saw you way before you came to Metropolis. It started a year ago."

A year ago was the day he revisited Shadowcrest and found the ancient book. He turned around and walked back towards Clark. "A year ago? I've been in Metropolis a few months, Mr Kent. Why are you coming to me now?"

Clark pursed his lips, then glanced up at those stained glass windows that Oliver adored. "Because I've only started to put it together now." He paused. "Last night."

The museum—when the world stopped still and turned gray, when everything faded and the only sound was her heartbeat.

"My fiancé and I were drawn here just last year, and we had a history and a life. But I always knew I already had everything I needed," Clark explained. His brows furrowed. "And we were stuck here where we aren't supposed to be."

Lane. Kent was Lane's partner. Lane was the only one who seemed to know as much about Chloe. "Where is Lois Lane?"

"She's gone. She already saw what she was here for," answered the other man. "And that's the only reason I came directly to you. I need to get out of here but I can't."

"I can't help you with that." He had his own problems. In another life, he thought, he would have set aside his goals and stopped to listen. But Oliver had his own purpose now. He had one sole purpose, and she was there in that building with a man who was at best amoral. "Follow her."

"I'm not done," Clark answered.

And at those simple words the world around him dimmed and heated, like he was caught in a furnace or hell. Oliver's chest grew tight, like he needed air he could not get, even as he stood in the open.

"What do you mean?" he rasped.

There was the heaviness of regret in the other man's eyes, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Oliver saw the proud stance slump at the question. And then Clark Kent replied, "Once you called for me and I couldn't come. And that was the biggest regret of my life."

When Clark reached for his shoulder, Oliver's first instinct was to pull away. He did not, and Clark's hand grasped his shoulder.

"I'll make up for that, Oliver."

And then in his head Oliver was holding on to the universe in his arms, pleading and promising, and all he could smell was blood and smoke and a hint of Chloe. His throat was raw as he yelled a name. Clark. It was his name. He screamed until his throat tore and he could choke on his own tongue as his throat swelled. He yelled and cried and called for the only one who could save them—who could have saved her.

"_You'll forget me."_

"_Never."_

"_The truth is, you're going to fall in love one day and you're going to build a life, Ollie." _

"_Doesn't mean I'll forget you."_

When Oliver returned to his senses and Clark's image pieced together before him once again, the other man's expression was of concern and trepidation. "Would you believe me if I told you that we knew each other?"

Without pause, Oliver answered, "Yes."

"Like we were brothers, Oliver."

"Enough to trust that you would have saved her." And then Oliver's brows furrowed. "You didn't."

"That's why I'm here," Clark admitted. "It didn't matter how many lives I saved. A hundred thousand people never made up for the way I failed my best friends."

Oliver did not know this man beyond the conversation between the two of them, could not tell the ridiculous story from a lie. But then subconsciously he reached forward and grasped Clark Kent's elbow, then said, "A hundred thousand lives is more than enough to redeem you."

Clark Kent returned with a stifled chuckle, then shook his head. "You never forgave me until the day you died. Not really." He glanced up. "Neither did I."

Meanwhile, up above the two Lex opened the doors of the Watchtower and found Chloe looking out of the stained glass windows, relishing the skyline that blurred in the horizon. He said her name, and she turned halfway, her face hidden in the shadow of the silhouette.

"I called the investors of LuthorCorp over tomorrow for the big reveal," he said into the yawning room. "The FBI would be undercover in the meeting. We're taking him down, Chloe."

Her cheeks were stained so she quickly dried the tears. When she looked back at him her eyes were bloodshot from the tears. He walked over to him, and Chloe placed her palms over his chest. She held her breath, feeling for a moment. And then she laid her ear over his chest and listened, knew the beat was different, the rhythm unfamiliar.

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

"Are you ready to tell me?" came the cool, disaffected question.

"You have to promise that you won't hurt him in any way, Lex." His eyes narrowed. She locked her jaw and raised her chin as a challenge. Reluctantly, Lex nodded. "I think I'm in love with him."

"Queen," he said again, just as he had said half a dozen times the day before, and had her deny a half a dozen times more. This time she nodded. "You barely know him."

"I'm dreaming of him."

Memories, Zatanna had said. Memories, not dreams.

But she was not prepared to tell Lex. Not when he had his father and the company and the chaos in between to deal with tomorrow.

"How does he kill you, Chloe?" he whispered. "In those dreams, how does he do it?"

For the longest time, he was the only one she trusted enough with secrets about Lionel, the only one who protected her from the beast. And he had sworn he would not hurt Oliver. Lex kept his word. It was a hardest word she could utter, "Arrow." She swallowed. "I was killed with an arrow."

And then, it was Lex. "So was I."

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: Hope you had a very merry Christmas. I ran out of lines in the initial sonnet I chose but I did find another one of my faves from the same collection that would help me continue the story. The next lines come from LXXVIII.

**Part 6**

_Never, forever… they do not concern me. Victory_

_leaves a vanishing footprint in the sand._

The sun was slow to set, and in the impending dusk Chloe Sullivan emerged from the darkened tower. Clark had long gone with the promise to keep close watch. When she saw him she stopped still on the sidewalk. Oliver stepped out of the car where he had been waiting and strode towards her.

A life. An entire new life. Another chance.

She paused, and the fear in her eyes was fleeting but heartbreaking.

But he was not going to let some ghost of a past dictate his future. Instead Oliver stepped forward, Clark's words mysterious and still fresh in his brain. There would be another time when he would sit with that half stranger who claimed an affinity to him like a brother. But now it remained. In his mind, in his heart, no matter what she believed in this lifetime Oliver knew his only purpose in this life was Chloe Sullivan.

When he reached her she did not breathe, did not move, did not dare meet his eyes. Instead her gaze focused on his hands, and he saw how they were fisted. What to him was determination, she could likely construe as something darker, more violent, far crueler. At least that was what he saw when he looked at the face that haunted him with memories of a bright smile.

"You're afraid of me," he said, and the sound of his voice was painful even to his own ears.

Even more, was the slip of an agreement, gentle but biting, tentative but ripping, "I am."

"I'd never hurt you," he swore.

When Clark arrived, she was dead and Oliver was half alive. Oliver—that Oliver that Clark knew—that Oliver he used to be—never forgave Clark for not being able to save Chloe. But Oliver knew, from the second that Clark shared the truth, that he hated the man more for arriving in time to save him.

How much easier would it have been if they burned together? And then their ashes would have blown away, intermingled, floating and dancing all the way to heaven.

For one forgetful moment he reached for her hand, and at the brief touch the green eyes looked at him wide-eyed, in wonder, and he swore she did not see anything that would make her afraid.

_You saved me._

In those eyes he was larger than life—certainly larger than this one, with all its lies and smoke screens, with the secrets thinly veiled. In her eyes he was a myth. He was a man. A worthy one.

"I love you," he confessed.

Those green eyes flickered, and for a heartbeat or two he thought finally she believed him. Stupid as it was, unrealistic it may be, but he heard his own declaration and knew for all the unbelievable speed of it all it was true, and he was in love. More in love than he had been until then. More in love than he had been since forever. In love only as much as he had been once before, long ago, so long ago he barely remembered but so in love he would never forget.

There was that numbing pain in the vicinity of his heart. For a split second he was blind, staggering down in the darkness, his wrists bound and he hit another body with a force that jarred him. That changed the world.

"I swear," he said, his throat tight, like this was the most important negotiation of all—more than all the million-dollar deals of his life put together in one plea, like he was down in the ground with his neck held down and his face hovering a hairsbreadth away from a two inch deep puddle that would drown him in mud. "I'd sooner die than hurt you. Whatever you think I would do to you, whatever you think I did—"

She stared down at his hands, large hands, hands that engulfed hers. He tightened his grip around her hands to show her how strong he was, how capable he was. How he could take care of her.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a sense of inferiority. "I can protect you." Four words. Simple words. Common words. Mundane even. But it meant the entire universe now.

After all she died right there, and he wondered about the faint memory of the sweetest, hottest breath against him. Knew that was when she died.

She whispered, and he had to strain to hear, "From you."

"Tell me what you saw!" he pleaded.

Slowly she pulled her hands away. For a split second she glanced back to the building and then she looked back at him. And then, Oliver held his breath when tentative fingers reached up and trailed down the line of his jaw. He itched to reach up and take her hand but kept himself still. There was time enough to give her. There was time enough, now with this new life.

"What do you want from me, Oliver?" she asked softly.

And it was a question he had not expected, did not think of. And even then the response came so easily he wondered if in his dreams he had rehearsed them. "Everything," he answered. And then they spilled, like flood, like a raging dam broken and freed. "Everything we never had a chance to have."

Her eyes were on his lips, reading the way they moved like his mouth was a book and all the knowledge she needed was written in the shapes they took. She blinked slowly, then offered, "I died."

So close to her was like breathing memories that sent his head spinning. She had died. Too early. And suddenly he could see what she saw in his hands, smell the metallic odor of fresh blood. Her blood.

It was terrifying, seeing what made her afraid. But still he held on, forced his attention instead on what she wanted to know. "Everything we would have had if—" _If he hadn't killed her–_ "if I didn't lose you."

She waited. Decades. It was decades and it was centuries between the second she asked and the moment he answered. Decades since she was gone and he finally died, just so he could tell her what he would have given her.

If only. So many of those. If only. Two words he despised even when he had been happiest just because they were just that—words. Two words that were everything in this lifetime.

"I want it all."

Between them the words hung, pictures emerged. And Oliver closed his eyes because even as he slowly pieced together the past all he could imagine was her.

And when she spoke he swore she could see right into his brain. "One diamond. The ring would be gold. It wasn't top of the line."

"My father hadn't made his billions when he proposed."

But that was what she would have gotten. One simple engagement ring that belonged to his mother, understated, not a quarter as rich as what he could afford but exactly as meaningful as every time she brightened when he walked into a room.

"Marriage."

Because there wasn't ever going to be anybody else. Even when there was, there was nobody else. Nobody quite like her. And every day he loved and lived was another day he knew how very much it could not compare.

"Children."

And that he hated most of all because he loved every one of them, and still at night when he closed his eyes he dreamed of children with green eyes, girls who sounded like her and boys as brave as her. His children that he loved and still, he wondered what hell he would find himself in after he died because at night he asked if he would love them more had they been hers.

"I remember," he realized. Everything. Everything that mattered—everything from the way she smelled to the taste of the stars on her skin. Everything about her. Except the day he lost her.

"You remember," she said.

"I remember you."

And when he nodded the glass shield that protected her shattered, and Oliver saw it melt into tears that filled her eyes. She drew a deep breath, released it with a shudder.

And then he paused. The shadows were quiet, subtle in their movement, but still he saw. Oliver's gaze rose from her to the gray blue eyes of the man in the shadows. Luthor.

"Chloe, is something wrong?" called Luthor.

And then the man emerged from the darkness. The streetlight glowed a dull sheen on his scalp. Oliver nodded, because he knew Luthor and she trusted him.

"Nothing, Lex."

"Are you sure?"

For five seconds Oliver fought the urge to snarl at the other man, to throw him out of this life because this was the life he had asked for, the chance he had fought for all those years. Lois and Clark were Chloe's ghosts, tearing their way through the barriers for their own unfinished business, and for her he welcomed the intrusion. Lex Luthor had no place in this life.

Right then it seemed that she agreed, because Chloe said a curt goodbye to Lex.

And then, Chloe turned to him, and Oliver's face suffused with warmth at the words that followed. "I want it too," Chloe told him. "All of it."

_I live a bedeviled man, disposed, like any other,_

_to cherish my human affinities. Whoever you are, I love you._

It was waking from a dream. And the skies above them thundered, and within a split second the skies darkened and the clouds broke, drenching the two of them with the heavy rain. His hand wrapped around her and he pulled them towards the building and pushed the doors open.

"Ollie!" she gasped.

The nickname sounded like an endearment, familiar and liquid as it flew from her lips. The hurt of betrayal in Lex's eyes as she pushed him away washed away with the rain and the grin that graced Oliver's expression at the name. His blonde hair was wet, plastered over his forehead when she saw him. Chloe reached up and pushed the hair back until it spiked over his head.

Another thunderous rumble and the bulb lighting the foyer died. In the darkness she held onto him and Chloe's heart leapt to her throat.

"Are there emergency lights?"

"No idea," she answered. After all Lex had only just given her the building to hide in, and she doubted Lex would answer her call if she tried him now. She felt around blindly and pulled him with her until she found the stairs. Generator-powered elevator or not, she was not going to get in when there was a power outage. "But I saw a rechargeable lamp upstairs."

They felt their way upstairs with his hand on her waist.

They made their way to the safehouse, the watchtower. Chloe made her way to the center of the room and started when a flash of lightning illuminated the large room. She turned around and found Oliver standing at the doorway, watching her. A brief second of thunder and the light, and Chloe surged with joy at the sight of him.

She blinked.

_You're safe._

_I'm safe._

"Chloe."

She shook her head. The heavy downpour lightened, like it was some trick, like she had been played, and she wondered how much Zatanna could see or hear or manipulate the world. But the memories, the whispers in her ear. None of them were from Zatanna. No one knew but her. Him.

In the darkness of the room, she stood in the center and he at the doorway, and she refused to make her way to him. She shivered, and Chloe watched as he peeled away the heavy suit and heard the loud thud when it hit the floor. Chloe looked over to the stained glass window and saw the slow emergence of the moon and the stars. Moonlight streamed through the window, lending a chilling shade of blue and green and red across his torso.

"You should take off your clothes."

And still she did not move an inch. He made his way to her, his skin glowing under the colorful slivers of moonlight as the wetness shimmered. In her mind's eye he was naked against a backdrop of wide open windows and miles and miles of forest behind him.

"Ollie," she said again. She loved that name. It danced on her tongue. If only she could say it over and over and remember every time she did.

If only. But he remembered now.

It was just a matter of time.

When he reached for her Chloe looked back towards the windows and imagined nursing him back. She could not remember her death, but knew exactly how she died. His hands rested on her cold wet shoulder and she shuddered at the warmth. She had watched her blood spill from her gut and onto his, felt the firm way he held that arrow, remembered the pain like it was yesterday.

But she loved him.

His hands peeled away her clothes like he was born to do so. Chloe threw back her head when Oliver's warm lips kissed her collar. And then the blouse fluttered to the floor. Chloe watched as the golden head lowered over the swell of her breasts as he kissed so lovingly it brought tears to her eyes.

She was going to have sex with a stranger.

With a man she knew killed her. With the man Lex said did the same to him.

And it was, in every sensation, with every gasp, every bit like coming home.

She blinked down at him and was embarrassed when one of her tears fell onto the slope of her breast, then rolled to the hollow in between. He caught it with a tip of his finger and looked up at her. And she saw the emotion in his eyes and felt the kick in her gut. His breath hitched. She caught his face in her hands and she lowered her lips and gave him a deep kiss.

Whatever he was, whoever he was.

"Find Zatanna. Find her," she said softly, "and tell her that we know."

"And then?"

"I want you to take her hand and do what she asks you to do."

But. There was always going to be a protest. "I won't lose you."

"You won't," she swore. "We deserve another chance, Oliver." Now that they remembered—"Take her hand and we'll have another chance."

"Okay."

Chloe suspected he would have agreed to anything, just for a chance. He buried his lips in her throat and she exhaled his name.

And then they were there, on the hard floor. When he laid her down and covered her body, he pushed the skirt over her hips. Chloe's legs parted to cradle his hips, their mouths latched together like a second apart was another lifetime wasted.

"I want to feel you," she whispered.

Tomorrow she would do what Lex wanted, because she owed him. And then it would be a lifetime with Oliver. He raised himself up and knelt before her naked. His hand pressed on her chest. "I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Never again," she promised.

A touch of Zatanna and there would never be fear. Not again. There would be no memories. Whatever he had done, all they would know is how they felt.

She had dreamed of his, dreamed of him, prayed to matter as much as she mattered now. His hands were gentle when he ran them up and down her arms. Chloe sighed when those warm, wet hands cupped her breasts. Her stomach tightened in response. His thumbs flicked over her nipples and Chloe gasped when he lowered his head and took one taut nipple between his teeth. His tongue rolled the nipple and Chloe arched. Her hear fell back.

She remembered how he loved her, remembered how long he spent on her body when there had only been one man before him. One man she was certain she loved, but from one life to the next, from death to life, that name and that face vanished between now and then while Oliver's, despite anything that she had done, haunted her for another lifetime.

"I don't remember anyone else except you."

"Neither do I," he breathed.

And then he was on her lips, kissing her, drinking her.

"Nothing as beautiful as you," she said lovingly, and those eyes, those eyes that remained long after she was dead, those eyes that stayed in her mind long before he was alive again. Nothing remained, and even then he was everything.

His lips were attentive, curious, intent. He kissed down her body and Chloe tensed when his mouth hovered above her navel. Oliver held on as she trembled. She heard him, in those words that endangered so many before her in countless cautionary tales, "Trust me, Chloe."

And then she gasped, because suddenly he had parted her and her eyes rolled back in her head as his arms hooked underneath her knees and his nose buried in her curls and his tongue darted in her.

Stars. Stars. A universe of kisses and stars.

The groan was ripped from her throat. Chloe gasped, her inhales and exhales erratic and uneven. And then it was his name, just his name, an eternity of his name. She erupted against his mouth, and she was not fully back to earth when she felt herself stretch and fill with him. Chloe opened her eyes and looked up at him while he thrust in and out of her. His mouth covered hers and she tasted herself on his lips.

"I love you," she gasped as she recovered her breath and met him thrust for thrust, helping him achieve his climax on the hard floor of the building that Lex had provided. Tomorrow she would complete his promise to Lex and then she would forget. Like Oliver. Tomorrow they would both forget and live anew, with nothing of the burdens of the past. "I love you." Chloe wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and her wide open thighs screamed at the tension.

And then her belly coiled so tightly, her vision narrowed and she held on to him, knowing she was going to break. Her body spasmed and she came, and Chloe fell back and squeezed him. She watched him when he came. His face was beautiful above hers, the sweat rolling off his forehead and onto her chest. He came inside her, hot and burning her inside, flooding her until she was so full from him. Traces of him dripped from her as she lay beneath his body, kissing his shoulder.

She loosed her tight embrace around his back, but kept her arms around him. Exhausted, Chloe closed her eyes. Before she drifted off she whispered another I love you. Just because tomorrow there might not be one, and there was decades to make up for, possible years before she could ever say it again.

It was almost morning, but still dark, when Chloe woke at the feel of him lengthening and hardening inside her. She was sore from the night, but the awakening sensation of his body coming alive brought her hip up. She opened her eyes and found those brown eyes intent as he pumped, plunging in and out. She took a deep, openmouthed breath, and breathed out the same way.

Her arms were pinned to either side of her head, and he tangled his fingers with hers. And then she turned her head away, because there was no way she could hold his gaze. Not today. Not for the last time. Instead she wrapped her legs high around his hips, and Chloe wondered if her tears would mark the floor. Maybe tomorrow night she would walk in and wonder about the stain, scrub it until it was gone.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut tightly when he came inside her, relished the heat of him, memorized the sensation of his hips jerking against her again and again when he came.

Oliver fell back on the floor, and with his arm around Chloe's waist he brought her up against him. She rested her chin on his chest and lovingly remembered his face. Playfully she brought her lips to the cleft of his chin.

For another chance, she wondered how much she would need to forget.

"I want it all," she said to him, like an apology. "I want everything this time around, Oliver."

"So," he said, "Zatanna's the key. I can find her." And then he brought her hand to his lips. "How about you?"

Nothing would take away their second chance. Not even their memories.

"I'll be right behind you."

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: Just one more after this—the epilogue.

**Part 7**

_The peddling and plaiting of thorns is not my concern, and many know this._

_I am no weaver of bloody crowns._

_I fought with the frivolous and the tide of my spirit runs full; and in sober earnest,_

_My detractors are paid in full with a volley of doves._

Shadowcrest.

It was a lovely old place, small compared to the mansion where he grew up in Star City. But Oliver painted the castle with such mystery and intrigue that Chloe could not help but imagine lying on that Persian rug that he described, in front of the fireplace, while they warmed each other in the cold Gotham winter.

He was beautiful. So beautiful. She could not believe for most of this time all she could remember were his eyes. Then again, if she remembered his voice, the way he made her matter, the rough skin of his fingers when he brushed them over the tips of her breasts, she would not have survived long enough for him to come back to her.

"I can't wait," he said to her, tugging back at her hand when she was about to leave.

"Neither can I," she answered, pulling the clothes that had been hastily pushed aside back into place. It could have been minutes or hours. The darkness outside the stained glass windows told her they had spent a good amount of time wrapped up in each other.

There were never two people more eager to leave everything they valued behind. Kisses, kisses. If she closed her eyes she would still smell the sweat on his skin, taste the salt of his sweat on her tongue.

"Let me do this. I promised I'd do this," she told him. If she were leaving everything she knew for him, then she would set as much as she could to right. A promise was a promise, especially when the promise was given to a soul like Lex. Of all the people in her life, Lex had been the most unfulfilled, the saddest. Lois and Clark had always had each other, and Lex had been—floating there.

And if it was Oliver's hand that killed him, then they were always going to be connected. Because his universe as hers, Oliver's sin also her own; his life was hers.

"I'll meet you in your office right after," she told him.

"And then Zatanna. Shadowcrest," he said to her, and the words would not have made sense without her faith in what they had, in what throbbed between them, in the pull she felt towards him even before she knew his name. She nodded. His voice was straight from her dreams in his promise. "And then we forget."

If she forgot him, if she forgot those dreams. "How would I know you didn't just abduct me and be terrified?" Looking at him, feeling the way she did, it was easy to say she would trust him. But even in the haze she realized how very tentative and flimsy it was. "We'll write ourselves a note, somewhere we can find it. And I'll tell myself to trust you."

He did not need one. At least that was his thought. Oliver had always been incurably romantic. How she knew that was a mystery. And then again perhaps he was only so with her.

Isis and Osiris. A tale of eternal love. Of course Oliver would believe in waking up with no knowledge of her, and still know believe was everything.

When she walked him to the elevator Chloe noticed his phone lying on the floor, and when she picked it up to return it to him he caught the device in his hand and surprised her with a parting kiss. "Soon," he told her. It was a promise. It was a plea for an acknowledgment.

"Soon," she told him.

Her entire body throbbed, her heart thrummed. Chloe entered the room that Lex had set up for her in that building and turned swiftly around. He had made no noise. He was wonderful that way, so sleek and graceful she swore there might be another lifetime when he could just be some graceful wildcat. But he was satisfactory enough in this lifetime.

"Let me spend the night," he said. And she nodded. On the way inside he discarded his shirt and kicked off his shoes, and Oliver lay on her bed for the first time and nothing seemed strange or out of place. Her eyes watered, and her vision blurred. It was the first time and she would not remember, but as he extended an arm to her and she sank into the bed beside him she thought of the countless times she would lie by his side again until the inevitable.

And then they would have everything he enumerated to her just moments ago—everything he had wanted and never had with her. Marriage. Children. A lifetime of kisses.

These were the promises she held to her heart when finally she joined Lex in the LuthorCorp building. It was difficult to look at him now without wondering. All those years since high school when she took his hand and decided on Lionel's ultimate fate, all the nights she had stayed up on the other end of the line while he recounted the countless injustices that his father had committed.

Who was Lex Luthor, if he were not that man from Smallville who had been on the other side of the door that night she had waited for her father to return? If he was not the man who told her, in quiet, clear, syllabicated sentences that her father—like many parents who worked in the fertilizer plant—would not come home again, then who was Lex?

The surprise in his eyes at her arrival was jarring to her. For a brief moment she remembered how she had turned away when he told her about the accident—now a massacre they both knew—that killed Gabe Sullivan and dozens of other employees in the Smallville plant.

"I thought you wouldn't come," he said easily. Lex's voice was always smooth, belying his anxiety, or his fear, or his anger. It was difficult to make sense of him. It had always been.

"I promised I'd be here for this, Lex," she said to him. Chloe entered his office, like she had done many times before. Only this time she was different. She moved in another way, pulsated in an entirely different manner. This was who she was. She mattered. Lex could not do this without her. The world would be worse if she did not rise in the morning. She mattered.

So this was how it felt once you found the part of your soul that completed you.

Lex poured a glass of scotch and offered it to her. Chloe shook her head. He brought it up to his lips and she recognized immediately that it was a courtesy offer, nothing more. Lex's eyes flickered at her from head to toe, and she wondered if there was any change apparent.

"Do you remember the day we planned this, Chloe?"

Her mind fluttered. From Oliver's arms, to the day a few years ago when she stood over her father's grave. There had been a chill in the air, and little falling snow. She had been in black. The cemetery was littered with little patches of black crowds gathered among several patches of freshly dug soil. Gabe Sullivan was buried in a crowd, unassuming, far from special, just one of many. Then again she had not been special at all, just one of the many teenage girls orphaned by the LuthorCorp accident. Despite the horrific events even Smallville sombered but was far from debilitated.

Smallville had seen accidents far worse, had lost more in the meteor shower. And the LuthorCorp middle managers had not been native to the town.

Chloe had the smallest crowd, the crowd that left the earliest. They had such long drives back home to Metropolis. But Chloe stood over the grave and stared. Her eyes were dry. She had cried enough into the jacket of the man who had brought her the news. And her father had always taken pride in how brave his daughter was. So for him she did not cry.

Lex Luthor made his way from the back and stopped at her side. When the rest had gone, he had remained. Around them there were families interring their loved ones, and he stood beside her with a black umbrella in his gloved hand.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said to her. Just like he had told her in the middle of the night when he informed her about the accident.

But Chloe closed her eyes and bowed her head. When everyone was gone she could cry. But Lex Luthor remained so she would hold back her tears. Her eyes were burning and she only wished he would leave. "You can leave, Mr Luthor," she said in return. "You've spent enough time with me last night. I'm sure there are other families you need to console." She took a deep breath. "It was an accident."

"I have reason to believe that it's not." And that was when she turned her head and looked up at him, his face grave, his jaw tight. He nodded towards the grave and said, "These were my employees, your family. What will you do if I told you that I may know who did this?"

She had wondered over the years if it was relief that finally broke her. Relief—that this was a murder. Relief—that the pain and the grief could be released in a mission. Either way, she had answered, "I would say we bring the bastard down."

Her memories of the cold snowy day faded and she nodded. Lex brought the scotch up to his lips and downed it in one.

"I keep my promises," she continued.

"For as long as I can remember, that was what I wanted to do," he told her. They had not had proof that it was Lionel Luthor until the last of the documents that Chloe managed to retrieve. But for as long as she knew him Chloe knew the look on his face after every encountered with his father.

"And you know I would help you."

Between Chloe and Lex, he had been physically stronger, even more intelligent in many things they shared. But she had learned from him, recognized the slightest innuendo and sparred verbally. She had always leaned forward when he spoke, burned with the desire to close his open wounds with his father long before she knew that Lionel had killed hers, wondered now if maybe she knew all along how Lex Luthor died.

And Oliver's sins.

They were hers.

The glass hitting the table signaled the reckoning had come. Lex walked towards her and nodded at the folder she clutched to her chest. "After this, are you going back to him?"

Somehow, in some way, neither of them had ever discussed what came after today. The plan had always been to bring justice to the LuthorCorp employees who died all those years ago, until the plan morphed into his father's fall from grace and incarceration. But never—not once—not even in the deep of the night when they pored through the documents and found their hands grazing as they reached for the same reference—had they ever touched tomorrow.

She was silent. It was more than enough of an answer.

"That man," he told her as he stopped inches from her. "I don't trust that man. I went to school with him, did business with him, but not until I saw him in that museum with you that I realized how much I don't trust him."

Was it just the sight of her and Oliver together that elicited such strong reaction?

"You dream you died," he said. "I don't remember exactly how, but I know I was killed. By an arrow." His eyes narrowed.

She licked her lips. "Do you feel it, Lex? That pain when an object tears your skin and muscle."

"No," he said softly. "There's an arrow, but it doesn't gut me. When I dream I dream I was burning in hell." And then he grasped her arm. "I don't want you going back to him," he said urgently.

They never talked about tomorrow.

"I can't do that," she said, her voice gentle.

"There was a time when I just wanted to protect you, Chloe." Lex walked forward and pulled open the door. When she stepped out of the office with him he leaned down and told her, "So think again. If you're afraid of him for one second—"

"Lex," she said gently in a reminder, "let's do what I'm here to do."

"Is this it? Is this how you forget?" Her heart stilled at a beat. In her silence he continued, "Is this how you forget about everything between us? Is this how you walk away, Chloe?"

_If it's the end of the world, I want to be in the foxhole with you._

For the briefest moment a certain thrill chased up her nape, and Chloe stifled a small grin at the pleasant thought. Oliver's voice. Despite everything she knew it was Oliver's voice that teased the edges of her brain.

"Come on," she said instead, then held out her hand to him, willing him to take that step. And he shook his head and walked on ahead. He would leave her behind, so easily, when this was over. And she looked forward to the day.

They reached the floor where the boardroom was, and there was no more conversation. Lex accepted the folded piece of paper from his assistant, then turned to Chloe. "My father hasn't arrived. Can you wait in the room next door? I don't want him to see before he steps into the boardroom."

"Sure."

Lex walked away. Chloe pushed the door open. There was another occupant, one she easily recognized. "Clark," she acknowledged. He had on a pair of black-rimmed glasses and he stood upon her entrance. Chloe shut the door behind her. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm covering the story," Clark answered. "Lex seemed to think you'd be delighted if he gave Lois the exclusive."

Of course she would have. Lex knew her well enough that he would ensure that her cousin made the byline, even the banner story for the Daily Planet. "But Lois is gone," she said needlessly.

"And here I am," Clark replied.

"So you are." She gave a tentative smile and sat beside him. "Wishing you were anywhere my cousin is."

She was pretty sure that was true, but Clark nudged her arm and with a small grin told her, "I'm right where I need to be." Chloe looked up at the commotion outside and noted that the mild chaos would have only been created by Lionel Luthor's arrival. She clutched her folder to her chest and fisted her hand. Clark closed his hand over hers. She looked up and met his warm, concerned gaze. "I may not have always been there when you needed me the most, Chloe," he said, "but I'm going to be here this time."

There were tears, she imagined, hot and countless raining down on her. Chloe could almost feel the tight grasp around her. Clark. It was Clark's name over and over, called out in that burning, awful room. And it was Oliver's bloodshot eyes that hovered over her. On the day of her death, she realized.

And so softly, without a hint of malice, she asked, "He needed you."

Not I. Him. Because the rawness of Oliver's cries made it so very real. On the day of her death the calls for Clark unheeded destroyed the one who survived more than the one who died.

"I couldn't come. I regretted that my entire life."

And in Clark's expression she read the truth. She swallowed the lump in her throat and closed her eyes. Chloe turned her hand over and twined their fingers tightly together.

The discreet knock on the door brought her back to earth. Chloe rose and took a deep breath. She held out the folder and looked down, ensured it was complete. Chloe glanced back at Clark. "It's time."

Let Lex go. Release the man that Oliver killed. Balance out the sins of the past. Then maybe there would be a future.

"Chloe, Lex was never a good man."

But the past years in the life she did remember told her otherwise. "I remember a different Lex," she told him simply. And this Lex, she thought, had all the potential in the world, poisoned only by a father like Lionel Luthor.

So Chloe entered the conference room to an eruption of whispers and asides through the length of the table. She listened intently as Lex told the board about the necessity for her presence, tightened her jaw when Lionel Luthor stared her down with his narrowed gaze. The bright light of the projector was burning her retinas. Chloe looked away and saw the eerily familiar shadow standing at the back.

But it could not be, so she blinked the thought away and focused on the men around her.

Chloe licked her lips and started, "I'm a LuthorCorp baby, and none of you would ever know how grateful I am to this company. My family's house, my education, the food on the table—they were all there because of LuthorCorp and my father never let me forget that. He was the prime example of a company man." Her throat tightened and her eyes stung. "LuthorCorp was there for me when my father died. So you can understand how this is difficult for me."

Point by point, Chloe related the discoveries she had made and cited evidence that pointed back to the top floor of LuthorCorp.

"So with great regret and disbelief I tell you that the massacre in the Smallville plant, along with the countless other accidents in various factories in and out of state were crimes of your CEO." Chloe looked back at Lionel Luthor while Lex's secretary went around the table and handed out tablet computers that had the information she had prepared, photographic evidence and PDF versions of the papers she had collected. "I'm sorry, Mr Luthor."

"So am I, dear," Lionel replied softly.

Chloe gasped. The pain came first. How very odd. The shot rang out briefly after that. A man standing behind Lionel Luthor darted out of the conference room. She fell to her knees on the floor. Chloe looked down and saw the familiar sight of a blossoming bright red spot of blood on her stomach. Her hands trembled as she touched it. She looked back up and saw Clark look down in shock. And then it was Lex hovering over her. Her vision blurred. Behind Lex the shadowed figure drew closer and closer until beautiful black eyes drew close.

"I told you, didn't I?" she demanded, her voice soothing at least. Zatanna took a place next to her. "It would happen over and over again until you let go."

"Chloe, stay with us," Clark's voice came through.

In the chaos that surrounded her, there was one clear image that shone brighter while all the rest of them faded in the shadows. Chloe gasped, "Oliver."

And then it was that smooth, wonderful hand that promised her so much and nothing at all. "Take my hand," Zatanna instructed.

The pain ripped through her, the bullet was lodged still inside of her. Lex called for his helicopter and Clark took her in his arms.

"Take my hand," Zatanna commanded. "We have to salvage what we can. Forget now, Chloe, or lose the chance. If you die now—again—I won't be able to make this happen again."

Just one hour more, maybe even now, Oliver waited. But the shadows were encroaching on her sight and she was not going to lose the future. And so, weakly, she raised up her arm and laid her hand on Zatanna's.

And she blazed into her brain. Chloe closed her eyes and was blinded by the light.

And then strong solid arms lifted her capably higher and higher until she could hear the thundering beats of the helicopter, until she felt the cold air bite into her skin. "You're going to be okay," a masculine voice told her.

Down below, Oliver waited in his car. He looked down at his watch and noted the time, wondered why she was late. The gas tank was full, and the plane was waiting to take them to Gotham City. He looked back towards the LuthorCorp building and narrowed his eyes as executives hurried out and immediately entered waiting black cars.

She recognized the figure that exited in a long dark coat. Oliver exited the car and hurried towards her. When Zatanna stopped, Oliver looked down at her blood-stained hand.

"I warned her. The longer you remember, the more dangerous this life becomes."

Oliver held his breath. "Is she-"

The LuthorCorp corporate helicopter sounded overhead. "They're taking her to the hospital. She's forgotten now. She's forgotten you." She offered her stained hand. "Do the same, Mr Queen. Don't invite tragedy to a new life. Not when she's in danger-"

The protest was ripped from his chest. "But we were going to forget. And we were going to wake up together."

"I gave you a whole new life. Maybe you don't get everything exactly the way you want it."

But always he had. Despite the most horrid of the circumstances in this life, when a hasty purchase had pumped hundreds and thousands out of his account like some hole in a water balloon—they turned out to be the very best of things. And in that other life, when he was lost and feared dead he only emerged stronger and better.

Yet when he lost. He lost it all.

The pang in his heart turned to a freezing hand squeezing tightly until his blood ran cold, seeing himself in an endless expanse of white unshoveled snow. His eyes blank until figures formed, surrounding him, sorrowful and quiet, bursting with emotions he could not bring himself to acknowledge.

Chloe Anne Sullivan.

It was a gorgeous tombstone, embossed with golden numbers proclaimed the date of her birth, what should have been unforgettable date when she died.

"Believe me, Oliver. I was there," he heard faintly in the background.

And that figure emerged in the surrounding memories, of Zatanna standing behind a dark hooded figure, standing beside Clark Kent, holding on to a book—that book that he had seen in Shadowcrest sitting proudly in Giovanni Zatara's shelves.

"I was there," she repeated. "And you would not want what happened in the past to chase you here."

_Never is no part of me; because I am I with a difference:_

_Was, and will always be so;_

"If I do—when I forget—I need—"

He searched for words, found none. When one gave you a pass to another universe filled with kisses, there was no real way to ask for more and more.

"Make sure I find her again," he managed.

Reluctantly, Oliver placed his hand on Zatanna's, feeling the sticky, dried blood, this last moment in his memory familiar, strange. The scent of blood assailed his senses. Even the scent of her blood, so ingrained in his soul he recognized it as it hung in the air between the two of them.

Right there, so close, and he breathed memories of her death and their lives. Right there.

Then gone.

_I speak for the pureness of things in the name of my love's metamorphoses._

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Nothing Remained But Your Eyes**

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

**Epilogue**

Her eyes were tired, her fingers close to bleeding. For the last few weeks Chloe had frantically searched the globe, exhausting every resource at LuthorCorp's disposal. The buyout had been quick, efficient, and completely secret. She could not believe that Lex had swiped the carpet right from under her.

And the bastard had the temerity to drop off the face of the earth and leave her to face the merger by herself.

"Sick, sick asshole," Chloe muttered under her breath. She held on to the anger and the panic. It was the only way she could hold herself up with the entire world caving in. If she were mad enough at Lex she would not crumble under the pressure, would not begin bawling at the nonstop images broadcast in CNN showing the blank dark surface of the ocean where they said that Lex's private plane had crashed.

Only Lex Luthor would be enough of a bastard to actually die after selling out his company to a stranger.

Chloe should never have agreed to Lex's fantastic idea to place her in such a critical role in the company. His board members should not have agreed. But after her role in Lionel's arrest and the public affairs nightmare that resulted she was the least of all evils. Now the very role placed her in a position that required her to face the buyer of LuthorCorp and make nice, pretend he was heavensent.

Although truth be told after looking at the last fiscal year's report and the early graphs of the previous quarter, this man was most likely truly their savior. The hero.

But that did not excuse the cowards and those lazybones from the board who excused themselves from the initial inspection and audit from the new owner's team.

"Miss Sullivan, your guest is here," came the cool, professional announcement from her phone.

"Please. He is a hardly a guest," Chloe replied, knowing the man would hear. It never hurt to get on the good side of any merger, after all. "Send him in."

Chloe pulled herself up to her feet. She closed the laptop, shutting off the news video of Lex's disappearance. It would not do well for the new CEO to find her spending her work hours so nonproductively.

He walked into the room in unabashed confidence, vibrating with assumptions and with an effortless white smile. Chloe felt the entire room move slowly. Her eyesight narrowed to one focal point, and his figure filled her vision. She heard the blood in her head as it sluggishly pumped her survival. Chloe swallowed.

Wow.

He extended his hand. She kicked herself for being slow to reach for his hand. And then she raised her hand and he clasped over hers in a warm handshake. Chloe swore her palm burned and seared his—she was so warm.

She had to hold herself to a professional, business conduct. Chloe had watched enough of Lex's business meetings to know what to say.

So she opened her mouth, then greeted, "Wow." And she was breathless. Dammit.

At her word, the man's eyebrows shot up. "I must say, that probably summarizes all my initial reaction to the company. Oliver Queen," he introduced himself.

"Of course you're Oliver Queen," she said in a rush. Her brows furrowed, completely at a loss. She had done this before. With people who probably had far more money than Oliver Queen. "I'm sorry. I'm Chloe Sullivan. And I'm usually a lot better than this."

But her world had already stopped when he smiled.

Oliver shook his head empathically. "No apologies necessary. I know what you're capable of, Miss Sullivan." She cocked her head to the side, then straightened up upon realizing how she must look. Like some infatuated little girl. "I do my research before I spend billions, especially on a company as mismanaged as LuthorCorp."

"We had a rough year," Chloe started. It was a merger. There was bound to be cleanup.

"In a merger, there are always casualties."

And he was going to fire her. He probably came to her for that sole purpose and the starstruck Wow did not help change his mind or establish her as a credible professional. That would be fair. She was given her role straight out of college and only because of Lex's gratitude and the board's desire to save face.

"How long do I have?" she asked.

"We have until the end of the week to draft the separation papers of the rest of the board. You didn't think I would let you handle it alone, did you?"

Chloe blinked.

"I'll do it with you."

Firing everyone else. Of course. But still she could not help the sharp thrill that raced down her spine. This was exactly what she needed. She was not normally like this. She had worked closely with Lex for such a long time, seen men as handsome as the Queen CEO. But her blood did not suddenly decide in any other instance that it was some heavy fluid in her veins. Not til now.

She licked her lips. "You want me to stay?"

"I want you to work for me," he stated clearly. And that was when Chloe realized that he still held her hand in his firm grip. "Understand-This will be the last job you'll ever have."

Chloe broke into a grin. She had all her defenses up, and the merger proved to be completely different than what she had expected. Although she had to admit, never having seen Oliver Queen up close, the hype surrounding him had been intoxicating.

"I'm no secretary, Mr Queen."

"You were Lex's VP. I wouldn't insult you like that. You'd work alongside me."

The proposal was irregular. Surely someone like Oliver Queen already had a right hand man. It was irregular, but still, oddly enough, strangely familiar. Chloe's eyebrow arched. "Your Sidekick?"

At that he gave her a lopsided grin as well. And Chloe wondered if he did not realize he was holding her hand still in what she thought could possibly qualify in the Guiness Book of World Records as the longest handshake in the world. "Your word, not mine."

She kind of liked the word.

"Obviously, Mr Queen, I'd like to talk terms." Well, she had balls. Everyone was getting fired and she wanted to push the envelope. Chloe was still pretty sure if she managed to piss him off and he dropped her he would be required to give her a settlement.

"Of course. I spotted a quaint little café nearby. Why don't you and I grab some coffee and talk this through."

That café. Near the watchtower that Lex had set up as her safehouse from his father. She still lived there now. There was a thread of excitement knowing he liked a place so close to home. Imagined how funny it would be to have him stand in the center of the living room in her watchtower. She pictured and thought how odd it would be. He would not fit well at all.

"A business meeting then."

Not a date. She didn't do dates. It would be especially odd to think of dating her own boss.

"Out of curiosity, what kind of terms are we talking about?"

"I want to be free to work on other projects. I would hate for my entire life to revolve around work and you," she pointed out. "I can't be stuck in the skyscraper too long."

"Plugged into the real world. Sounds fair," he said.

"And I would hate it if you started listing down conflict of interest."

"So no strings," he said slowly.

"I don't do strings."

"Well, I'm the type of employer who requires all of the attachments. But we can start off the way you want," he said magnanimously. "I'll wear you down yet."

"I don't think so." Chloe chuckled. She looked down at their clasped hands, wondered if she should pull away first. Lex never did have this problem with any of the contacts they had made in the meetings she observed. "I look forward to working with you, Mr Queen."

He smiled down at her, and Chloe wondered if he could see the warm adoration in her own eyes. She knew herself well and knew herself enough to know she would not be able to hide her thoughts well enough. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Slowly, Chloe pulled her hand out of his. At the action, he seemed to work himself out of his own reverie. Oliver turned around and walked towards the door. He reached for the door, then turned back to her. Chloe looked back at him expectantly.

Oliver coughed into his fist, then said, "You strike me as someone who might enjoy an old book I found from one of the properties I acquired a few years back."

If she had a dollar every time a man said that to her, she would have one dollar.

"It's an old Egyptian mythology book."

"Why would you think that?"

Oliver nodded back at her, and Chloe glanced down in the direction he looked. She wore a golden scarab pinned to her blouse. Her favorite. She touched it gingerly. "I got it at the museum gift shop."

Oliver released the doorknob, then walked back into her office. Chloe leaned back on the desk.

"You know I went on a dig a few years ago."

"I remember seeing that," she said eagerly. Oliver Queen settled on the leather seat that sat in front of her desk. I was in the Isis and Osiris exhibit that you sponsored." She had come down with an allergy right after Lois told her that she was leaving, and Lex had to take her back home immediately after that. But she remembered the video documentary of Oliver Queen's expedition. It was a memorable piece.

"Were you? How did you find it?" He leaned forward, and he was so close to her again that she felt the waves of warmth emanating from his body.

Chloe blushed. She hoped he did not notice, because there was no valid reason to be so flushed right then. "It was pretty romantic," she admitted. "You made me believe in eternal love." The statement was so telling that she needed to add, "That being the subtitle of the exhibit that means you succeeded very well."

"Well that's what I'm here for," he said, his voice taking on a whisper soft huskiness that made her imagine a black sky and a universe of kisses.

It was getting late, and her assistant still needed to get home. She was going to sign the contract with Queen any way. "Goodnight, Ollie."

He blinked. She wondered where the nickname came from. Possibly from tabloids. Hoped he would not take offense. Instead, he appeared as confused as she. But he shook his head and smiled. "Goodnight, Chloe."

Oliver pulled himself up and sighed. She stepped forward at the same time. They brushed up against each other and Chloe looked up. Found him standing so close.

And his eyes. Brown and deep. So deep she imagined lifetime after lifetime hidden within.

His hands rested warm on her hips. Gently, he nuzzled his nose against hers. Chloe parted her lips and sighed when she felt his mouth brush against hers.

They were the same brown eyes that would hold her gaze when she accepted him into her body just a week later, the same brown eyes she would see when dreamed that night.

She would speak about those eyes when she stood in white lace and silk, hidden partly from the world behind a handmade veil. When she promised him forever, she would ask for return an eternity looking into those eyes.

In the throes of pain, when her body ripped and spasmed years later with a crowning child, when the world dropped away, nothing remained but his eyes.

And decades upon decades, kisses upon kisses past, Chloe sat at his bedside surrounded by her children and held his hand to her lips. "You're as beautiful as the day you walked into my life," she told him. The golden hair had turned silver then. She playfully teased at the strands with trembling fingers. The smooth skin of his face lined and curved. "You were my life."

"So are you," he said to her, and in those final moments he was ecstatic.

His eyes were warm and brown, memorable and Chloe burned them into her mind. "I'll see you soon," she whispered into his ear. And then, she smiled for him because her face was the last thing he would see. Chloe pressed her lips on his and waited until his breathing slowed. His chest stilled.

_Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens._

_I love you. I kiss happiness into your lips._

_Let us gather up sticks for a fire. Let us kindle a fire on the mountains._

And the world that had spun when she met the love of her life, the heartbeat that was steady and deafening, stopped. The colors dimmed around her. Chloe lived in the muted universe from that day on. It was a few years later that a lovely young woman walked into the house, with her pitch black hair and her engaging smile.

"I came for my father's book," she said.

Chloe nodded towards the ancient Egyptian tome that she had leafed through regularly since the day that Oliver had presented it to her.

The young woman took the book in her arms and turned to leave. She stopped, looked back at Chloe, then said, "This is priceless. And I'd like to give you something in return. Imagine there are no rules, no laws, and that you can ask for anything at all. What would you want, Mrs Queen?"

"I already had everything. It wouldn't be fair to ask for more."

Chloe rested her head back in her seat and closed her eyes. When she did, instead of blackness, it was Oliver's eyes she saw. The young woman left the room as unobtrusively as she came. Chloe took her slow, measured breaths until she felt the cool, comforting breeze tease her skin from the open window.

Chloe opened her eyes. And there he was, standing at the balcony, handsome and lean and young, wearing the green leather suit that she had adored so much. She stood up from her seat, as spritely and light as she could remember.

Oliver held out his arm to her. Without hesitation, Chloe stepped into that strong circle and he held her flush against his side. The Green Arrow released the arrow up into the black sky, lodged it somewhere she could not see and Chloe wondered if his arrow struck a star. Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

"Took you long enough, hero."

He grinned. Chloe pushed his glasses off his eyes. "Believe me, professor. I was antsy and impatient the entire time waiting." He captured her lips in a breathless kiss.

"Ready whenever you are," she told him.

"Then hold tight."

"I'm never letting go," she answered.

And cradled by his strong arm, Chloe flew from the balcony to the sky. She glanced back briefly towards the home she had shared with Oliver, saw her grown children gather quietly around the body left there. They were strong, her children. They were Chloe Sullivan and Oliver Queen, combinations of all the incarnations that they had forgotten once and now all remembered. With a fond wish for them all Chloe turned back to her hero.

They were coming home.

fin


End file.
